


Forging

by brighteye



Series: Hope [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, mercykill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 111,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighteye/pseuds/brighteye
Summary: "In a time of destruction, create something." - Maxine Hong KingstonFollowing Angela Ziegler as she enters Overwatch.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Hope [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911919
Comments: 26
Kudos: 15





	1. Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reposting of my 2017 story. I've renamed it and combined all chapters into one single, chaptered entity. It is _mostly_ the same as my original posting, up until Chapter 9. I have cleaned up some conversations throughout the chapters to make things flow better, and overall hopefully make the story read more clearly.
> 
> I do fudge the timeline and facts a bit, but I do try to stay as true to the confirmed timeline / facts as I possibly can.

“Paging Dr. Ziegler to OR 1. Dr. Ziegler to OR 1.” Angela sighed but dutifully changed her trajectory from the canteen to the nearby elevator that would take her down the two floors necessary to reach the operating rooms. She had known when she had taken the promotion to head of surgery that it would be a lot of work – she’d already been _doing_ a lot of work – but she hadn’t realized how little time she had available to her own research. She had to schedule surgeries, shifting them around as more life-threatening cases arose, as well as surgeons to take them; she had to oversee the surgeries when some rookie or otherwise nervous surgeon just _wasn’t sure_ and wanted another set of eyes, which she didn’t begrudge and completely understood, even as it frustrated her; she had her own patients that required her attention, whether they were high-priority cases for public relations or her own personal cases from before her promotion; and then there was the non-stop _meetings_.

But she had just had a major breakthrough, using nanotechnology to enhance the healing process. Aside from broken bones and foreign matter, wounds that would take weeks to heal could be treated in a handful of days. This technology could even be used to help heal treatable illnesses and disease, and minimize the symptoms in many terminal diseases. Aside from one allergic reaction to a placebo and mild nausea, her newest breakthrough had passed the clinical trial with glowing results. Soon it would be used in all major hospitals – starting with her own – to help others. She was so happy she had nearly cried; after all her hard work, she was finally making a difference. People would be saved, would live their lives with their families, because of her work. Due to the way it was applied, they had started to call it the “healing stream”.

Angela stepped off the elevator, white lab-coat billowing behind her as she hurried her steps. She wasn’t sure how urgent the case was, but she needed to get food in her before the _next_ surgery that she had promised to observe and then she had rounds after that. She wasn’t sure when the last time she ate was, but she knew that food needed to be in her immediate future. She paused to look at the chart outside the operating room so that she had an idea of what she was walking in on. It was an emergency surgery that she had cleared just this morning; a man had come in with several gunshot wounds. Nodding to herself, she put the chart back and opened the door.

She shed her lab-coat in the room just outside the operating room, hanging it carefully on a hook designed just for that, before scrubbing herself clean. Tugging on a pair of gloves, she strode into the operating room. There was a man sedated on the table with several splotches of red on his abdomen.

“What seems to be the problem?” Angela asked, striding confidently up to the table. Just another day at work, but this man would survive. Between her and the surgeon that called her, they would get this man back on his feet.

\---

Angela leaned back in her chair, eyes closed and one hand rubbing her temple. She absolutely _loathed_ budget meetings. There were so many things that they needed, but due to financial constraints they had to manage with less. She understood that – money made the world go around and money paid her bills (and her staff) – but it was no less frustrating. What was even more frustrating was that the meeting had gone thirty minutes over and she was now late for her rounds. She knew she needed to get back to it, but she was taking just a minute to compose herself. Five minutes later, she scooped up her notes, exited the conference room, and hit the elevators. At the fifth floor she headed left, her heels _click click clicking_ as she sped towards her first patients room.

She entered Lilian Graves’ room forty minutes behind schedule, but she was all smiles and apologies for running behind. Lilian was looking good – her vitals stable and her sutures clean – and would probably be going home soon. However, a few minutes into her conversation she noticed her assistant, Samuel, hovering outside the door. She cut the conversation short and assured Lilian she was doing well and Angela would definitely see her tomorrow.

She exited the room backwards and closed the door soundly before turning towards Samuel. Before she could even begin to formulate words, she noticed the two strangers flanking him. She could tell just by looking at them that they had no business on this floor, hovering outside one of her patients’ room.

“Dr. Ziegler, these men were looking for you.” Samuel said, ducking his head as he saw the steely look in her eyes, but continued valiantly. “They wanted to speak to you about your breakthrough.”

“Then these _gentlemen_ can make an appointment like everyone else.” Angela replied coolly. She knew she needed to talk to them – and everyone else who wanted to see her – about her technology, but they _had_ to make an appointment. Her days were already struggling to follow the structure she was trying to apply to it without random strangers appearing to make it that much harder. “Now, if we’re finished here, I have patients to tend to.” Angela turned to walk away, but a firm hand on her elbow stopped her.

“We’re not asking for a lot of your time, doctor.” The blonde on Samuels’ right spoke, his very posture screaming that he was in charge, though it was the dark-eyed man on Samuels’ left who held her. “My name is Jack Morrison and this is Gabriel Reyes. We’re with Overwatch, and we are extremely interested in your work.”

Overwatch. At first she had thought they were a great idea. They would establish global peace and the horror that was the Omnic Crisis would never happen again. Families wouldn’t be torn apart by war like hers was. She was glad that their world had come far enough that they could have a global task force dedicated to such a noble cause.

The reality was much less grand. Overwatch agents were still fighting, still killing, and innocents were caught in the crossfire all too often. However, not much was being done to stop the “collateral” damage from what anyone could tell. Sure, Overwatch was doing some good – they stopped wayward omnics and had stopped a dictator here and there – but too often this resulted in bombs or large strikes that killed more innocents than guilty. More families and friends were being torn apart as agents fought and died, renegades fought and died, and innocents in the crossfire just plain died. It wasn’t right and an organization dedicated to peace such as Overwatch should have done better.

“I have no intention of dealing Overwatch while their ‘collateral damage’ – the innocents they are _supposed_ to be protecting – are higher than the ‘enemies’ they claim to be fighting.” Angela growled, jerking her arm out of Gabriel’s grip. “Samuel, please escort these men out.” She stalked off down the hall, searching for her next patient, as the two agents stared after her thoughtfully.

\---

A week later she walked into yet another meeting. This one had been created suddenly by her boss, though he wouldn’t provide any details on what, exactly, the meeting was about. Her eyes on a chart in her hand, she didn’t look up until the door clicked shut behind her. When she saw the blonde Jack Morrison sitting at the conference table, she turned to walk right back out. However, the intimidating Gabriel Reyes was at her back, keeping her from exiting the room.

“Dr. Ziegler, how kind of you to join us.” Jack said from his seat behind her. She could just _hear_ the smirk without looking at the man. They had so easily caught her in their trap. She glanced around the room briefly and spotted Samuel and her boss, an overbearing man with cold eyes named Marco Treichler. Of course they’d go over her head to her boss when she failed to give them what they wanted. Marco wanted her to patent and sell the technology off to the highest bidder, and who would be better than the famous Overwatch?

“Mr. Morrison, Mr. Reyes; how… _nice_ to see you both again.” Angela skirted to the side of the imposing man so that she could see both of them. If they were surprised that she had remembered their names, they didn’t show it.

“If you would be so kind as to have a seat, Angela?” Marco asked, standing at the table. “This shouldn’t take too much of your time.” The good doctor closed her eyes briefly before moving forward to take a seat at the table across from Jack, a smile plastered to her face. She’d had plenty of practice smiling, even when she’d rather be doing anything but, so it looked rather believable. Marco took a seat next to Jack, while Samuel took a seat next to her in solidarity. She glanced back at Gabriel, but found he was standing with his arms crossed in front of the door, as if afraid she might bolt at any moment.

It was a fair assessment, seeing how she had dismissed them the last time they’d spoken.

“Dr. Ziegler, I know you’re a busy woman so I’ll cut straight to the chase. We’d like to offer you a position within our organization.” Angela stared at the man as if he’d grown two heads, while Marco sputtered next to him.

“You _what_? You said you wanted to speak to her regarding her research!” The man said, his face flushing in anger at the deceit.

“It is in regards to her research that I am offering this position.” Jack regarded the man calmly, before turning his attention back towards Angela. “Your nanotechnology is nothing short of miraculous. Overwatch is looking for bright scientists and researchers to help make this world a better place. Your knowledge and skills would be an enormous asset to our organization.”

Overwatch wanted _her_. They had seen her worth in the research she had performed and the technology she had created, and they deemed her worthy. She knew that her response to them originally had been rather hostile, but it was nothing but the truth. Overwatch was an organization that butchered people in the name of peace, and she could not stand with them. Not while they dropped bombs in cities to root out terrorism, and instead of killing terrorists they killed innocents.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.” Angela responded, clasping her hands before her. “I am a doctor that wishes to protect people, not create tools to help murder them.” She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, but she kept her eyes locked on the blonde before her.

“Then this meeting is over; Angela has given her answer.” Marco spoke quickly in the ensuing silence. He clearly didn’t want his chief of surgery going elsewhere, even if it was to a prestigious organization such as Overwatch. The sooner they left, the sooner they could get back to work and put this nonsense behind them.

“You want to protect people, but you won’t help the organization dedicated to doing just that?” Jack responded incredulously. Was the man deaf? Did he think she was an idiot?

“You’ve killed countless innocents in the name of _your_ peace!” Angela shot back. “How many families have been killed? How many children lost parents, siblings? You drop bombs on cities, shattering _hundreds_ of lives, and you tell me you’re dedicated to _helping_ people?” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, as if looking for patience, when a cool voice behind her spoke.

“You want to help people? Take away their pain and cure them of disease?” Footsteps, and then Gabriel comes into view on her left. Jack shoots him a look – clearly he was supposed to be the one convincing her to join, though he wasn’t making much headway.

“Of course I do! Why else would I have created the healing stream? Why else would I be a doctor?” Angela glared up at the dark haired man, who just stared back nonplussed with arms crossed.

“Then Overwatch is where you need to be. Yes, I _know_ ,” He cut her off before she could start talking again, “about your opinion on the way we stop terrorists. Our methods are an unfortunate necessity, but they _were_ a necessity. You don’t know how many days we get locked in meetings with risk assessors about the way we stop these people, but it is _never_ an easy decision.” He put one hand on the table and leaned down towards her. She leaned back, trying to keep space between them. “Overwatch is making a difference and we have a chance for real, lasting peace. Medicine is one of the many ways we are trying to help people, and you are the best choice. Help us, Dr. Ziegler, so we can help the world.”

She could tell he meant every word, that he truly believed that Overwatch could make a difference. That _she_ could make a difference, if she was willing to look past what Overwatch had done and see what it could do.

“Not everything we do is bombs and bullets, Dr. Ziegler.” Gabriel pushed against the crack he had made in her resolve. “We have plenty of watchpoints dedicated to environmental studies. We’ve responded to natural disasters – such as that earthquake that hit Chile last week. Our researchers have helped limit climate change, as well as create new tools with which to help people – like your newest invention.”

“We could get any doctor in the world, but the truth is we need _you_ , Dr. Ziegler. Your intelligence and innovation, paired with other great minds, can make a great difference in the world.” Jack said, and her focus turned from the man looming over her to the blonde that sat calmly across the table. She sat silent, for once at a loss for words, and glanced between the two men that were as different as night and day – and yet they both held the same conviction about Overwatch.

“We know this is a big decision, and it shouldn’t be taken lightly. We’ll contact you in a week for your decision.” Jack said after the silence had stretched to the point of discomfort. The blonde stood from his seat across from her and made his way to the door. “We appreciate your time, doctor.” Gabriel remained hovering over her, though his right hand was rummaging through his pocket.

“This has my contact information on it. Call – or email – any time and I’ll answer any questions you have.” The man said smoothly as he offered a business card. Once she had accepted the card, the men left and the door closed behind them with a soft _click_.

“You can’t seriously be considering their offer, Angela! Your job – your _life_ – is here. You’re not a hero or a soldier; you’re a doctor with patients here, in the real world. Let them fight their battles elsewhere!” Marco declared, trying to reel her back to his hospital. She was a promising doctor and their hospital was lucky to have her, and he’d be a fool if he let her go without a fight.

“You’re right, Marco. I’m not a soldier. I’m a doctor, and I have patients.” She responded, placating him even as her mind whirled and she pushed away from the table.

What if she _could_ make a difference? What if she could save the innocent with her research, on the front lines like her parents? What if she could be the one that saved children from the heartbreak of losing a parent?

What if she could be a hero?

\---

“This is Reyes.” A cool voice, with no hint of annoyance or anger at being bothered at eleven thirty at night, answered her call. She had agonized over calling him all day, until it had even affected her work. She sent herself home at eight when it was obvious she wasn’t going to get anything done and had returned to her apartment. There, she had made lists – lists about the good and the bad of Overwatch, the pros and cons of her joining them, of what questions she had to ask – and thought.

“Mr. Reyes, it’s Dr. Ziegler.” She responded, sitting on her sofa with an orange and a cup of tea. It was later than she had intended to call, but she had gotten wrapped up in her lists. She would have put it off until tomorrow, but she didn’t think her work could handle another day like today. Then again, being a nuisance so late at night might give her more information.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, doctor?” The man responded easily, and she wondered if he was naturally up late or if he was used to phone calls waking him. It was probably both, given that he appeared to be a person of importance in the organization that was courting her.

“I had a few questions, if you have the time. I know it’s rather late.” Angela responded before lifting the cup to her lips and sipping.

“I will always have time to speak with you, doctor. What are your questions?” He responded smoothly, and she wondered how true his words were. After – no, _if_ – she accepted this position, she doubted she would see the man again. He was a salesman, trying to get her to buy their product. Even if she was bothering him – and she was certain she was – he wouldn’t let on.

“I wanted to know what, exactly, I would be doing if I were to accept your offer.” She responded. It had been the most pressing concern of hers. She didn’t want to be relegated only to research – which was where they appeared to value her most. While it was a fair assessment, her passion lay in helping people, in medicine, and while research would definitely help multiple others, she was a doctor. Giving up that part of her would be akin to cutting off a hand.

“We want to make you the head of our medical research. You’d get to decide what we need to focus on and how we need to go about it. Funding and tools will not be a problem, given that you are reasonable in your requests.” The man responded easily. She paused, not expecting such an answer. She knew they wanted her knowledge and skills, but she had expected to be under another senior researcher, not to _be_ the senior. Not that she was incapable – she managed the surgical staff of her hospital as well as balanced her own research and patients – but it was a surprise. Most saw her age and ignored her genius, somehow believing she’d managed to bluff her way to her position.

“I am still a doctor, Mr. Reyes.” Angela responded slowly. While the offer was _extremely_ tempting, regardless of the organization – that, if she was honest, was becoming less terrible the more she considered it – she still needed to be a doctor. She still needed to treat patients and work in surgery. It was who she was and what she needed.

“Of course. While you would be the head of research, that doesn’t have to take up all of your time. You can create projects and delegate – or take point yourself – at your discretion. You will be the head of a much larger team for you to manage. You can still see patients and tend to the wounded if that is what you wish. We want you to be comfortable, but, more importantly, we want you to be happy, Dr. Ziegler.” Gabriel replied earnestly. His enthusiasm was somewhat infectious, but she held herself firm.

“In what capacity would I be allowed to see patients?” She queried, hoping that his enthusiasm wasn’t bleeding into her voice too much.

“In whatever capacity you want. Honestly, you’re the best doctor the world has seen in a long time. Whatever it is you want, whatever you need, it’s yours. You need only ask. If you want to be the head doctor, it’s done.” There was no desperation in the mans’ voice, only conviction. This was not false flattery and praise; Overwatch wanted – and needed – a person of her skill. She sat quietly on the phone, listening to him breathe as he waited for her next question and her mind raced.

They were offering her anything she wanted – and all she ever wanted was to help people. She could make new tools to save people, to lessen the blood that stained Overwatch. She would be given everything she needed to make her dreams – their dreams of peace – a reality. All she had to do was take that first leap of faith, the terrifying plunge into an organization whose methods she still wasn’t certain of.

“Doctor? Are you still there?” He asked, concern in his voice.

“I’m still here.” She whispered.

She could be a hero.

She could keep others from suffering her fate.

All she had to do was take that first step.

“I accept your offer.”


	2. Negotiations

“Coming!” Angela called, acknowledging the pounding fist on her front door. While she normally didn’t receive visitors late at night – partially because she wasn’t home, mostly because she didn’t have visitors _period_ – she had a decent idea of who was at the door. She swung the door open without checking the peephole and was greeted by the two familiar men that had convinced her to give Overwatch a shot.

“Gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked as she stifled a yawn, keeping herself between them and the rest of her home. A glance at the clock had told her it was nearly eleven and she wasn’t in the habit of letting strange men – generous with their resources and time towards her as they were – into her home without reason.

“We know you’re a busy woman and keep late hours, but we need to talk about your agreement to work for Overwatch.” Jack said, gesturing towards her with a folder of papers. She frowned, glancing between the two men before sighing and stepping out of their way.

“By all means, please come in.” Angela invited, not-so-graciously. She had to be back at work at six am to make sure that all the scheduled surgeries went smoothly as well as make sure no changes to the schedule was required. Yes, there was another person on duty to take care of that right now but it was – primarily – her job and it was one hundred percent her responsibility. Still, she had agreed to work for Overwatch so soon that wouldn’t be her concern any longer.

Once the men had brushed past her and the door was locked securely behind them – though she noticed with some chagrin the guns on Gabriel’s back, which made them more secure than her little lock – she directed them to her tiny kitchen table. There were two chairs – she didn’t entertain much because, again, she was normally at the hospital – but she invited them to sit while she turned to the cupboard.

“Would either of you like some tea?” She offered, pulling down a mug for herself. This was probably going to be a late night and she would need all the help she could get. All she had was cheap bagged tea, but it was better than nothing. Coffee would be even better, but she always got some at the hospital and never needed it at home.

“A glass of water would be fine, thank you.” Jack responded as he took a seat at her table, opening the folder. She grabbed down a glass for him and looked to Gabriel for his response.

“I’ll take whatever tea you’re having, doc.” Gabriel said as he leaned one shoulder against the wall behind Jack, leaving the second chair to her. Nodding, she grabbed a second mug before turning to prepare their drinks. She pulled the box of bagged tea out of its home in a different cupboard and placed it on the counter by the mugs.

“Go ahead and start talking; I’m sure I can keep up until this is done.” Angela said breezily as she moved to fill the teapot with water. She glanced over her shoulder towards the two men. “Ice, Jack? And how do you take your tea, Gabriel?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack responded as he grabbed a paper, ready to begin.

“I’m not picky, doc. However is fine.” Gabriel said as he made himself comfortable against the wall. She turned her attention back to her self-appointed task as Jack opened his mouth to speak.

“First, Gabriel informs me that you want to continue seeing patients while with us. We can put you over our entire medical division, if that is what you wish.” The blonde offered. She stood at her sink, considering. That would be a lot of work – coordinating research as well as watching over the infirmary as a whole. “Your primary directive, of course, will be medical research, but there is no reason why you can’t continue treating patients.” She thought she had a lot of work now – that was nothing compared to what it sounded like she would be given.

“What kind of resources will I be given? Staff? Assistants?” She asked as she took the teapot to the stove, trying to sound casual. She didn’t have an electric one, preferring to heat the water the “old fashioned” way. Once it was secure on the burner, she turned to get Jack a glass of water with ice. As she moved to the table and placed the cup before the man, he responded.

“Thanks. You’ll be given whatever help you need. The infirmary currently has a number of nurses and doctors already on staff, but they’re primarily used for triage and trauma care at our strike points. We have a handful of researchers available at your disposal, and you are welcome to request more when needed. We can also hire you an assistant if you require it.” He took a sip of the water and placed the cup carefully on the table away from the papers, where the condensation wouldn’t affect them.

“I will definitely need at _least_ two assistants if I am to be head of the medical division for Overwatch. One for each of the two branches you currently possess.”

“Consider it done, Dr. Ziegler.” She nodded. This was coming together nicely – and she was surprised at how agreeable they were being. It was a generous offer to begin with, and yet they were willing to up the ante to whatever she wanted it to be.

“Agreed, Mr. Morrison.”

“That’s another thing, doctor. Gabriel and I are Commanders within Overwatch; just as you are addressed as Dr. Ziegler, we are addressed as Commanders by Overwatch – and other – personnel.” She flashed a cold smile, even as her mind raced. Angela now realized _just_ how important the two men she had blown off were. She knew they had power, that was obvious considering they could offer her anything, but she hadn’t realized these two _were_ Overwatch.

“Militarization at its finest, _Commander_.” The title rolled easily off her tongue, even as she hated that she was signing up for a job with _Commanders_ of all things. “Who do I answer to, then? I imagine I have at least _one_ superior, seeing how I’m an outsider.” She replied frostily. As great a deal as she was being cut, the reminder of the military – the _violent_ – side still put her hackles up.

“You answer to myself, Gabriel, and a woman named Ana Amari – Captain Amari to you.” He responded, the chain of command coming easily. “Of course, while we run Overwatch, we answer to the UN, so we’re not without _some_ oversight.”

“And whose orders are most important, Commander? Yours, his,” her eyes cut briefly to Gabriel before returning to his blue ones, “or this elusive Captain Amari?” Jack shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair at her question. “Who gets priority?”

“In all things medical – prioritization of care, method of care, and who is healthy enough to go into the field – you have the final word. You have the expertise that we lack, which is why you are being brought on. However,” he put his hand up as if to ward off a question – not that she was about to speak or interrupt the man, “you shouldn’t have to deal with conflicting orders. You’ll be in HQ focusing mostly on research; any directives will come after the three of us collaborate together.” His hand – and his eyes – fell to the papers before him as he considered the words. There was a palpable silence as she took in his words and understood that he had deflected her question quite easily.

“But who is priority, should such a situation ever arise? I won’t be put between the three of you to be ripped apart like a favored toy among children. Of course,” she smiled a bit, trying to be reassuring, “I will follow _all_ … orders… to the best of my ability, but I can’t imagine this situation _never_ happening. It happens at least once a week at the hospital.” The blonde was silent, but then Gabriel interjected.

“He’s stubborn, isn’t he?” His jovial tone didn’t match the hard, weary look in his eyes. “His orders would take priority.” Jack made a sound of disagreement, but didn’t actively object. Gabriel stared at Jack for a moment before turning back to Angela. “After his orders, you follow mine, and then Captain Amari’s. For anything medical, the chain stops there. For anything combat related – and since you won’t be in the field this really shouldn’t be a problem – you’ll answer to generally anyone on the strike team with a gun when it comes to your safety.” Angela nodded, mollified. Apparently it was a sore subject between the men, and while she didn’t necessarily enjoy needling them – okay, maybe she did a _little_ , but they _did_ come to her door at eleven in the evening – she did need the information.

“So, since I outrank everyone – medically speaking, at least – I can promote or demote my staff as I see fit?” She queried.

“Of course. As I said, you’re in complete control when it comes to the medical side.” Jack replied as she turned attention away from their power struggles. However, their conversation quickly turned to a different subject.

“As a member of Overwatch, doctor, you will move into the Overwatch headquarters in Zürich.” He made it a statement, and she knew an order when she heard one. She hadn’t been expecting to remain in the apartment she had, but she _hadn’t_ expected to move _in_ to Overwatch.

“I don’t see why I have to live _in_ the base, Commander. Surely I can live apart?” She asked carefully. She valued what little privacy she had in her home – she didn’t get to spend much time there, but it was carefully maintained and no one from her work life (until now, that is) had ever set foot within. Moving into a militarized frat house wouldn’t allow her any privacy at all.

“Doctor, you will be on call twenty-four seven. There is no telling when an operative will need your attention or your researchers will have a break through. Aside from those facts, _all_ personnel of Overwatch live within one of the headquarters or at one of the field offices. It is for their – and our – protection, and is not up for debate.” She sighed and let her shoulders slump slightly. She knew better than to fight a losing battle. Besides, a little discomfort could be tolerated for everything they were offering her.

“I understand. How long do I have to wrap things up here?” Angela asked as the teapot behind her began to shriek. She moved to get up, but Gabriel beat her to the punch. Moving away from the wall, he gently pushed her back into her seat and moved to finish preparing the tea.

“Do you take sugar or milk, doctor?” He glanced back towards her as he carefully poured the hot water over the tea bags in each cup.

“No, thank you, Commander.” She said, leaning back and twisting to look at him.

“Please, call me Reyes – at least when there aren’t any subordinates around.” He turned back to making the tea before she could respond, but she appreciated the gesture. Flipping into a military mode would take time, and she was absolutely certain she’d mess up the ranks and titles and whatnot, but at least he was good natured about it – unlike a certain blue-eyed blonde that was sighing and rolling his eyes at his… partner? She really wasn’t sure what their relationship was; it seemed friendly enough, until her pointed questions about ranks.

“We’re willing to give you a week to wrap up your affairs here and get you on a plane.” Jack told her, flipping through his folder for a handful of pages. “Whenever you have spare time – which I know is rare for a doctor of your caliber – please review these documents and sign them. You’ll need to turn them in when you arrive at headquarters.” He offered her a stack of pages filled with text. “They’re the usual legal nonsense – confidentiality, waivers, et cetera – but it’s all necessary, especially for someone like you with access to a large amount of classified information.” Angela accepted the papers and flipped through them idly before setting them on the table before her.

“I will need two weeks before I can leave.” She replied after a long moment. It wasn’t her being contrary – though she was tempted just to see how far she could push them, how far her supposed “authority” would go, but she knew better. These men were smart and would _probably_ see through the ploy for what it was. She had a major surgery lined up outside the deadline, and she didn’t trust anyone else at the hospital to not screw up the last four years of her hard work on the man.

“We are only offering you one, doctor.” Jack said, steel in his voice. He wasn’t used to having someone around that didn’t immediately kowtow to his orders, it seemed. Still, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t leaving this city until her patients – her immediate and foremost concern – were taken care of. Gabriel placed one of the mugs at her elbow before returning to his place against the wall, flanking Jack.

“That won’t work for me. I have responsibilities here, and that requires two weeks.” Angela responded, leaning forward against the table.

“What sort of responsibilities, doctor?” Gabriel asked, before sipping – and wincing at the heat of the still-boiling liquid – on his tea. “You must understand that we are eager to get you – and ourselves – back to Zürich. We, also, have responsibilities – and you just agreed to a great deal more responsibility that also awaits.”

“I have a major heart surgery on a long-time patient. This will be the seventh such surgery he has gone through, and with each his chances of survival have steadily plummeted.” She glanced between the both of them before leaning back and crossing her arms. “Understand this, gentlemen,” she glanced at Jack before amending, “ _Commanders_ : my patients will _always_ come first, before your – or Overwatchs’ – wants and needs, regardless of what you wish of them. Even if that patient is yourself.” She found herself fiercely glaring at the men, but this was her line in the sand. This wasn’t something she was willing to compromise, and it was definitely best to get it out of the way now. “If this is unacceptable, you may as well find yourself another doctor.”

Surprisingly, Gabriel started to laugh – and then swore when the tea spilled over onto his hand. Jack turned in his seat to glare at the man, which just made him chuckle some more.

“What’s so damn funny, Reyes?” Jack demanded.

“The two of you are, _Morrison_.” He made the name sound _almost_ mocking, which made her think that they didn’t _usually_ address each other by last name. “You’re both stubborn, but she’s got a good point – whether _you_ like it or not, which I bet you don’t. Another week won’t matter, not in the long run – and not if it’ll costs us the doctor. She’s _exactly_ what Overwatch needs, and we both know it.” Gabriel looked up to the doctor. “You’ll have your two weeks. Be ready with your things packed; you won’t be returning here for some time.”

Angela nodded, a small – victorious – smile on her lips. At least _one_ of them was reasonable. She noticed Jack didn’t overrule him, though apparently technically he could. For that she was grateful; she really did want this opportunity, but not at the costs of compromising her duty. It was all she seemed to have left these days.

“What’s the next thing you needed to talk to me about, gentlemen?” She asked, reaching for her mug.

\---

To say Marco was less than pleased was an understatement.

“You’re _leaving_? I thought you’d agreed that you had a duty here, not with Overwatch!” He yelled, cheeks coloring, once she turned in her resignation notice.

“I have a duty to help everyone in need. That duty is best served with Overwatch. As much as I hate leaving your hospital, I truly believe it is for the best.” Angela replied, trying to remain calm and level headed. She still needed to work here another week and a half – which would give her only two or three days to take care of her affairs outside of the hospital – and it would go that much smoother if she wasn’t fighting with him.

“And what of all your patients that you leave behind, huh? What about them?” He replied, trying to lay on the guilt. And yes, she did feel guilty that she was effectively abandoning them, but that guilt was outweighed by the needs of the many. Those here had plenty of other doctors to care for them, but there were so many places that she – that Overwatch – could help that had no medical centers to speak of.

“They will find excellent care here, with or without me I am sure. Your doctors are more than capable of caring for them. After all, I helped train them.” She replied, a cocky – and completely inappropriate – smirk played on her lips for a moment before she smothered it. Angela was proud of the work she had done here, that was certain, and it definitely was the reason she was moving on, but that was no excuse to rub it in.

“Excellent care, you say, yet I see you’re still going to _personally_ perform surgery on three patients before you go. That doesn’t speak much of your confidence in our staff.” He pointed out angrily. She merely met his angry glare with a cool one of her own. At least here, in this playing field, she knew where she stood – even if she only got two hours of sleep after the men had left her apartment. Coffee was truly a modern miracle, though she definitely wasn’t planning on performing any surgeries _today_.

“Of course. You’ll notice that they are all personal, long-standing patients of mine. Aside from that, I have – or will have – reassigned all of my patients to other capable hands – and these three will follow after their surgical appointments with me.” She sighed and stood up from her seat. “I understand you are upset, losing one of your best doctors, but I must assure you that I _am_ going to Overwatch. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to finish my rounds through the middle of the week after next. In that time, I will give you recommendations for my successor as well as clear my office and research lab.”

“Just get out of my office, Angela. You’ll have your two weeks, and I’d better have that recommendation by noon your last day.” He growled, pointing at the door. Angela nodded respectfully and clasped her hands before her.

“I appreciate your generosity and the opportunities to work here in this hospital.” She quickly made her way out of the office and shut the door quietly behind her.

\---

By the end of the day the rumor mill had started, with nurses and doctors alike whispering to each other – only to quiet when Angela drew near. She knew what they were whispering about and had expected it. Marco was nothing if not loud when he was upset, and she wasn’t surprised that word had gotten around.

The next morning, she took Samuel aside and broke the news to him. He merely nodded in understanding.

“I always thought you’d outgrow us, doctor. You’re destined for great things; I’m just glad you decided to give Overwatch a chance.” He smiled at her. “Whatever help you need to transition, just let me know.” She smiled back, grateful that at least one other person was happy for her. The way Marco had raved – and she knew he was just angry, she _knew_ he didn’t mean (most of) it –had put a damper on her exhausted-but-good mood. She had expected much the same from Samuel, who she would be effectively abandoning to the next chief of surgery, just as her predecessor did before her.

“I appreciate your understanding. I’ll definitely need help; I have to clear out all my workspaces for the move. Do you think you could help with that? You know my system better than anyone here.” Samuel nodded.

“I’ll make sure everything is labeled and in proper order, doctor. Just leave it to me.”

\---

“Are you ready to go, doctor?” Gabriel’s voice greeted her as she opened her apartment door. All of her things were in boxes, with the exception of furniture too large for such things. She nodded as she opened the door to let him enter.

“Where’s Commander Morrison?” She asked, glancing into the hall before looking back at him. She’d yet to see them apart, though it wasn’t really that unsurprising. Angela hardly expected them to be within ten feet of each other at _all_ times.

“He had to return to Overwatch. There’s a situation that needed his immediate attention, so he left me to play babysitter.” Gabriel’s smile led her to believe he was just teasing, though she didn’t know him well enough to know for certain. Instead, she crossed her arms and let out a little indignant huff.

“I doubt that anything will happen to me on a trip to the airport, Commander.” She responded, letting the tiniest amount of sarcasm creep into her tone – just in case he actually _was_ serious she didn’t want to rub him the wrong way. He laughed.

“You’re definitely going to fit right in, doc – but I thought I told you to call me Reyes.” He chided gently. “Is this all your stuff?” He shifted his gaze to the various boxes that filled the room. There were a lot of boxes, but then again all of her research and personal notes were also contained within them. Samuel had made good on his promise, and everything was meticulously labeled and separated to make it easy to unpack and pick back up where she left off. The blonde nodded, turning her gaze to the boxes.

“How’re these getting to this headquarters of yours?” She asked, real anxiety creeping into her voice. All of her research, her lifes’ work, was contained in these boxes – not to mention the precious few mementos she had of her parents. It was all very important to her, and she needed them to reach her new home safely and securely. Gabriel turned to look at her, his jovial expression turning serious as he took in her own expression.

“I brought two privates to help pack your boxes and furniture into the truck. They’ll help load the airplane – one of Overwatchs’ if you were curious – before we take off. It’ll just be the four of us, plus the pilot. All of your belongings, all of your research, will be just fine.” He crossed the room to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, before striding back to the door. “Let me go get the boys and we’ll get you out of here. Morrison wants us back yesterday, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She grinned at him, the worry lifting off her shoulders as he distracted her. He left the apartment to fetch the two men, but it took him considerably longer than she expected for him to return.

“Privates Jamison and Perry, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler; Doc, these are the privates that are responsible for your belongings being _safely_ and _securely_ transported.” He fixed both men with a firm look as he gave them a not-so-subtle order. They snapped a salute towards him with a “Yes, Commander!” and got straight to work. Boxes and furniture were carefully hauled out of the room under Gabriels’ watchful eyes.

“They know that if anything is broken or generally out of place that they’ll have to answer to me. I made sure to instill the fear of God – well, in this case, of me I guess – in them before I brought them up here, so you can rest easy doc.” Gabriel told her as the privates carried out her mattress. She smiled up at him, relieved.

“Thanks, Reyes. I appreciate it.” She looked around at the boxes that still littered the room. “We should probably help them, don’t you think?” Her eyes glittered with mischief. “We’d hate for Commander Morrison to have to wait any longer, wouldn’t we?”


	3. Dominion

“This entire floor is yours, doc.” Gabriel said, leading her out of the elevator and onto basement level one. “Through this door ahead of us is the infirmary. Generally, this is where routine medical exams and other, simpler medical tasks are handled.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. She stepped inside and glanced around. The room was mostly filled with beds – twenty, ten on each side – with curtains drawn back between them to be used for privacy. Each bed had its own set of equipment, and towards the back she saw a large desk and three doors. At least two of the doors were wide enough to wheel the beds through, so she imagined that there were operating rooms and the like through them. The room was empty of patients, but there were two others at the far side of the room that looked up when they entered.

“That’s a lot of beds, Rey-err, Commander.” She said, stumbling over the title as a woman bustled over to them. Maybe she should just call him Commander all the time, request be damned. It certainly would be less confusing and hard to keep track of. “How often do they get used?” The infirmary looked well kept; it was clean and orderly, but there were no patients for her to use to add to her assessment of the place.

“More often than we’d like, doc, that’s for sure. Overwatch is a big organization, so people cycle through here all the time.” He responded before looking towards the smiling red head standing before them. “Dr. Angela Ziegler, this is Dr. Gloria Freeman. Dr. Freeman, Dr. Ziegler is coming on as head of the medical division, with a specialty in medical research.” He turned towards Angela. “Dr. Ziegler, Dr. Freeman is – err, was – in charge of the infirmary, to include everything between a check up to surgery. I would recommend that you keep her on as she is, at least until you are more acclimatized.” Angela nodded and smiled towards the other woman, whose smile now appeared a bit forced. She was older than Angela, and in her experience that led to hostility and resentment, especially when an older doctor was usurped by a younger one.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Dr. Freeman. Do you think we can meet later today, once the Commander is done with me? I know I’ll need to rely on your help in the coming days.” She asked. Angela hoped to have a positive relationship with her new subordinates, but she wasn’t dumb. Hopefully Dr. Freeman would at least be mature enough to work with her if she ended up disliking her new boss. That was really all Angela could ask for of anyone; she couldn’t demand people to like her, but she could demand respect. After a few months her worth would shine through, and there shouldn’t be too many problems. A private meeting would also help hash out problems now, before they emerged at a later, public time.

“Of course, Dr. Ziegler. I will be available in the infirmary at your convenience.” Dr. Freeman responded respectfully – though Angela noticed that she was expected to go to the woman, rather than the other way around. She didn’t care, though; let the older doctor win her pissing contest. It wouldn’t change the fact that she was the head of medical now.

“I’ll have her back to you soon, Dr. Freeman. I’m just giving her a quick tour around the facilities.” Gabriel said, as he started forward towards one of the doors at the back. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” The redhead nodded and followed the pair, though she stopped at the desk with another young man. Angela smiled at him, but breezed past to the door set in the right wall.

“This is the infirmary main storage.” He pushed the door open so she could see the large room filled with shelves of supplies, as well as locked cabinets and refrigerators for medicine and other specialty items. “There are other supplies stored elsewhere, but this should be sufficient for your day-to-day needs.” He pulled the door shut and directed her towards the door on the wall across from them. On the other side was a small hallway with four sets of double doors.

“These are the operating rooms. We’ve never had to use all four at once so far, but they’re to be fully prepped and ready to go at any moment. I’ll let you tour those at your discretion later; I’m pretty sure I’ll just offend you if I try to show you around it.” She was pretty sure he was teasing – maybe trying to make her transition easier? – but he turned back into the main room before she could figure it out. Angela dutifully followed him as he pushed open the other oversized door at the back of the room. Yet another hallway – this one longer – greeted them. On the opposite wall there were six doors, as well as one door at either end of the hall.

“This hallway leads to a number of places. The doors on the opposite wall will lead into private patient rooms, for quarantine, critical care, or any other private needs.” He told her, pulling one of the doors open for her to peer inside. She gazed around critically before turning to the taller man.

“Looks good, Reyes. Is six enough, though? As you’ve told me, Overwatch is a large organization – and apparently this is the main headquarters.” All the equipment she had seen was state of the art, but the space allocated didn’t seem quite… large enough for such a large and violent organization.

“You underestimate us, doc. The door on the left,” he gestured but made no move towards it, “will take you to another section with ten more rooms, as well as a small kitchen where meals can be prepared to fit your patients’ needs.” He leaned against the wall casually as he angled his head down to talk to her. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I assure you that it should be sufficient. We do have other bases of operations that injured agents can be taken to, should there truly be a need.” He assured her.

“While I’m not so picky – or cocky – to assume that I am needed for all cases, from what I understand I am the head of the medical division. Am I also in control of these other locations – at least where the health of my patients are involved?” If that was the case, she was _definitely_ in over her head.

“Zürich base is the head of all operations – medical included. Much of our triage is done outside of _any_ headquarters, such as on the battlefield or in the back of Humvees. All other bases have medical wards – which, yes, you do control – but none are as large as Zürich’s, and Zürich is not nearly as large as the hospital you come from.” He glanced over towards her. “You forget, that while Overwatch _is_ a large organization, it is not nearly as large as a city or metropolis, which requires intake sizes you are more used to.”

Angela bit her lip as she thought. He was right, she knew – Overwatch wasn’t _that_ big, though it always seemed larger than life. They’d been around for years, and she had to believe they were at least _slightly_ competent. She nodded, squaring her shoulders. She could do this; she could manage multiple infirmaries across the globe. Their intake couldn’t be _that_ high – this task wouldn’t be nearly as hard as she feared.

“You’re right. I’ll adjust, I’m sure. It’s all just… new.” Angela admitted, turning to look at the door towards the right. “What’s over there?”

“That will take you towards the research and analysis section. There’s also a morgue – for body storage or autopsies – that way as well.” He lifted one hand to rub the back of his head sheepishly. “I’ll admit that I honestly have no idea where anything is over there, but Dr. Freeman will be able to help you – or find someone else that can.” He directed her back inside the infirmary and towards the exit.

“I’ll show you a few more points of interest, then I’ll get you back to Dr. Freeman. By then the privates should have all your boxes in the right places.” He’d made sure that, before he hustled her off to get her security clearance taken care of, all of her boxes were carefully labeled with where they should go.

“That sounds like a plan, Reyes.” She said, as he pulled open the door to lead back to the elevator bay. He pressed a button to take them back upstairs, before pointing down the hallway.

“Before I forget; this hallway also leads to the research department, as well as your office and the kitchen.” The elevator door slid open quietly and they stepped inside. “There’s also access to an underground garage, so that patients coming in via ground vehicles can be seen quickly. This elevator also leads to the roof and, as you may have noticed, the elevators will fit a bed in the case that a helicopter comes in with wounded. There’s an override here,” he pointed to a key slot, “that will force the elevator to any floor you require, should you need it. Dr. Freeman should know where the key is.” Angela nodded as the doors shut and Gabriel pressed the button for floor 3.

“I imagine I’ll find my way around eventually, but is there a map somewhere?” She asked, bracing herself against the wall as it shifted upwards. He laughed, and she found herself smiling even though she was mildly exasperated.

“Somewhere, I’m sure.” His tone suddenly took a turn for the serious, a stark juxtaposition against his previous demeanor. “We try not to have those laying around, just in case.” Angela stared at him, suddenly chilled.

“Is it really so dangerous here?” She asked softly. Angela hadn’t imagined she was traveling anywhere unsafe; this was _Overwatch_ after all. They were heroes and soldiers, and that should make it safe, wouldn’t it?

“It’s not _dangerous_ , per se. It’s just, this base is the head of operations, right?” Angela nodded in agreement. “Most people, most organizations – good and bad – know where we are; transparency and all that.” That was certainly true; even she had known that Overwatch was in Zürich, though she hadn’t known it was the head of everything. “Many other major bases also are known, as well as most of our ecopoints, though most of our field offices manage to run mostly under the radar. We’re just careful, since we have so many enemies standing against us.” The door slid open and he stepped out and looked back towards her. “We probably are being overly cautious, but it’s safer than the alternative.” She nodded and stepped out after him.

They were silent as he led her through the halls. She hadn’t expected that working with Overwatch would be terribly dangerous, though she supposed it made sense. Her own hospital had protocols for shooters and bombs – but then again you could get a _map_ there. For an organization such as Overwatch, which opposed terrorists and inequality wherever it could, it only made sense that it would be that much more dangerous than her old stomping grounds.

She tried to keep track of their path, but she knew that it would take more than one trip to figure it out. People stepped out of their way as they walked, nodding respectfully towards Gabriel and staring unabashedly at the young blonde following at his heels. She ignored them; soon enough they should be used to her.

“This is the administrative canteen.” Gabriel said, breaking the silence and leading her into yet another room, this one filled with tables and chairs. “You can eat at any hour – Overwatch never sleeps, or so it seems – but they serve meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on a set schedule.” She noticed that there were a few agents in uniform sitting among lab coats and suits.

“I thought you said this was an administrative canteen?” She asked, and he followed her gaze towards the agents.

“Well, it is unofficially. Honestly, no one cares where anyone eats. If you’re closer to the barracks canteen when you need to eat, you can eat there and no one will stop you.” He glanced back over to her. “It’s mostly to help spread the burden of feeding everyone across two canteens, rather than one.” He opened his mouth to speak, probably to give her even more information about her new home, when a shout interrupted him.

“Commander Reyes!” A man called out towards the man at her side, and they both turned to watch a young man rush over to them. Once he was closer, he saluted the man.

“At ease, private. What do you need?” Gabriel was all business as he turned away from the young doctor at his side to focus on the man before him. Angela looked around the canteen, noticing eyes on them – some from the mans’ shout, others looking at the curious new addition at their Commanders’ side – while trying to ignore the conversation happening less than three feet to her left with no success.

“It’s Commander Morrison, sir. He needs you in the command center, right away.” Gabriel sighed, but nodded anyway and turned back to her.

“Sorry doc, but it looks like we’re cutting this tour short. The private here,” he glanced back at the man still waiting, “will take you back down to the infirmary. I’ll make sure someone shows you your quarters before it gets too late.” He turned back to the man who had brought Jacks’ order. “Private, get the doctor back to the infirmary, then report back to command for further orders.” He glanced briefly back at Angela. “I’m sure I’ll see you later, doctor.” With that, he strode quickly out of the room towards, presumably, wherever command was. Angela turned towards the private.

“Well, shall we?”

\---

The meeting with Gloria Freeman went about how she expected, but they managed to come to an understanding – mostly because Angela laid all her cards on the table. Proving her worth – mainly by name dropping her own creation – went a long way in proving to Dr. Freeman that Angela knew what she was doing.

Now she was reviewing lists at Gloria’s desk; she wasn’t certain where, exactly, her office was – though Gabriel had mentioned it earlier in her tour – so she had commandeered this one. Gloria only had access to the Zürich bases’ medical personnel files, so she was reviewing those. She didn’t have the researchers or the data on anyone else under her command outside of Zürich, but it was a good start. She’d ask Gabriel about getting the rest of the information she needed the next time she saw him. She was sure it was available to her, but she didn’t know where to look.

With the list of personnel, she also had her own lists that she was writing for herself. She needed to call meetings – but god did she hate meetings – with all of her new subordinates; speak to the Commanders about getting her assistants, because she knew she was going to need them; and she needed to find new research projects for her newly assigned team, because that’s what she was hired to do originally.

“How’s your first day going?” Angela looked up from her lists to spy Jack hovering in her – well, Gloria’s – doorway. His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it, probably from stress. Many of her patients’ families had the same look from the exact same thing.

“It wasn’t too terrible, all things considered.” Angela responded, setting her pen down and leaning her elbows on the desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Commander?” She hadn’t expected to be visited by him, what with the way they had butted heads originally.

“I can’t come check on you on your first day?” He asked, leaning in the doorframe. She smiled wanly. Just because they didn’t start off on the right foot didn’t mean they couldn’t be amicable – which was the same thing she’d requested of Gloria.

“Of course you can, Commander.” She replied smoothly, rising from the seat to stretch. “I just didn’t expect to see you. I thought you were busy with Commander Reyes.” Which was also true; while she wasn’t quite certain what time it was, she had expected them to be sequestered away for much longer. Then again, she had no idea how they worked yet and couldn’t estimate these things. He just seemed the type of man to stick to it until the plans were done.

“I was. We’ve taken a break and I thought I’d make sure you were settling in well. Have you eaten?” Of course she hadn’t eaten, not that he could know that. When she worked she lost track of the world around her, single-mindedly focusing on the task at hand, sometimes skipping several meals before coming up for air. It was a trait many doctors possessed, due to their long hours, but she used it to work on anything – research, administrative nonsense, and medical procedures. She’d put her mind to her lists – most importantly the research projects that she wanted to get started – and lost track of time, as usual.

“Not yet. I’ve been working.” She responded, scooping up her papers from Gloria’s desk. She didn’t want to carry them around, but she wasn’t leaving them in this office. “Do you know where my office might be? I just took this one.” It was a perfectly rational question, but it sounded stupid to her ears. This was her division – everything on the floor was hers – and she had no idea where anything was outside the infirmary. She knew it was foolish to feel that way – it was only her first day – but it still made her feel dumb.

“Of course. I’ll show you.” She grabbed the personnel files while she was at it and followed the blonde out of the infirmary. “It’s just down this hall here.” He led her away from the elevator bay and down the hall she hadn’t yet explored. To be fair, she hadn’t explored anything but Gloria’s office. He pulled open a door and gestured inside. “Here we are.” Huh, it wasn’t even that far away. “We made sure to assign you near the infirmary, in case you were needed for any kind of emergency.” Which made sense; a research project usually didn’t end up as an emergency, though an infirmary always had them.

“Thanks.” She said, stepping past him and into the room. It was spacious and boasted two desks, one against the back wall and a second towards the middle with a monitor. An office chair sat in the middle and three filing cabinets lined another wall. The final touch was the couch against the wall with the door; she noticed it was large enough to sleep on, should she need it. She expected she would. “It’s perfect, thank you.” And it was. This room would work perfectly for her. It had everything she needed to get started, aside from a cork board – but that was easily remedied. She set the files into one of the filing cabinets and sealed it. “Are there keys? I’ve gotten the elevator one from Gloria, but I imagine that’s just the beginning.” She was going to need to get a key ring.

“They should all be in the top drawer of that desk there.” Angela opened the indicated drawer and found a small key ring holding the four keys to this office – one for the door and three for the cabinets. She tucked them into her coat pocket with the elevator key. She glanced around and spotted a clock above the door, which read that it was nearly ten at night. Had it really been that long? She hadn’t gotten anything unpacked!

“Is that really the time?” She gasped. Jack glanced up at the clock and then chucked.

“Yeah, it’s a bit late. When I’d heard no one had seen you since you’d been led away from the canteen, I figured you had hidden yourself away somewhere.” She bristled at his words. Had he thought she was _hiding_? She had been planning out her work here, and he thought she was cowering in some corner like a child!

“I wasn’t _hiding_. I was planning.” He opened his mouth, but she waved away his words. She was sure he didn’t _mean_ to offend her, it just happened that way. “More importantly, I need to meet with my staff. I need to plan meetings; how do I do that and where?”

“You’ll need your computer there. Your login information is under the keyboard, but you’ll have to change the password once you’ve entered it, security protocols and all.” She nodded and found the scrap and logged in. Once in, he directed her to open her email. “All of your staff are in here, sorted by medical and research staff. Some will be in both sections, as you are, but most belong to one or the other. Just choose the ones you need and send them an email with whatever you want them to do. There’s a meeting room on the second floor that you can use.” Angela bit her lip and thought out loud.

“I can’t leave the infirmary unstaffed, so I’ll have to leave Gloria out – but that should be fine since I’ve already talked to her.” She checked all the medical staff, excluding Gloria, and sent them an email to meet her in, “What’s that room number?” room 217 at ten tomorrow morning. Then she sent a quick email to Gloria herself, explaining what, exactly, was going on so that she didn’t feel ostracized. She repeated the same steps with her research staff, only moving the meeting to noon. “Done.” She leaned back in the chair. Jack coughed politely, grabbing her attention.

“Sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” While she wasn’t necessarily sorry for doing her job, it seemed the polite thing to do when he’d come all this way to see her.

“Not a problem. I’ve only got a little time left before I need to get back; do you want me to take you back up to the canteen so you can eat?” He offered.

“I’ll probably get lost on my way back, and I don’t even know where my room is.” She admitted after a moments thought. Food did sound like a great idea – she hadn’t eaten that day aside from some snack on the plane – but she honestly had no idea what she’d do after that.

“We’ll have to fix that, won’t we? Come on, I’ll take you up.” He told her, and walked away with the expectation that she’d follow. She darted after him, almost forgetting to lock up behind her. By the time she caught up he’d already called an elevator. They stepped into the elevator in silence, and she leaned against the wall.

“What are you all planning, anyway?” Jack glanced sharply at her, but she put up her hands defensively. “I’m not looking for battle strategies or anything, but _you_ said I was the final say on who is and is not fit to go into the field. If you’re planning on sending anyone out, you have to run it by me.” She raised one eyebrow at the man, daring him to contradict her. He huffed out a sigh.

“Gabriel was right; we definitely need someone like you around.” He admitted, turning back to the elevator doors. “I’ll have Ana – Captain Amari – bring you their files and a location tomorrow for your review, say around three? I know you have meetings – and you should really eat at some point tomorrow.” The doors slid open and they walked out.

“That should be acceptable, Commander. I’ll keep an eye out for her.” She followed a step behind him. “Will I get to sit in on your meetings as the medical director, or will one of you just come to me with a list of names and locations?” While it would work in the interim, she couldn’t see it being sustainable. While they would be knowledgeable of their skills in battle, she would be able to – albeit tentatively – allow or disapprove anyone for missions without all the running around. It would save everyone a lot of time in the long run. Jack looked at her appraisingly.

“We’ll see doctor.”

\---

“Your room is on the eighth floor. We wanted to put you closer to the infirmary, but we didn’t have any rooms available closer than that.” Jack told her as he led her back out of the canteen. Up they went to the eighth floor, where he took an immediate right. After a short period of walking, he stopped at a door. “You’ll have to swipe your card to get in – so don’t forget it inside.” She obliged him by swiping her card and letting the two of them in.

Against the walls were her boxes – except for the ones needed on the medical floor. She had to admit that the room – or rather, rooms – were bigger than she had expected. There were only what appeared to be three rooms. She had an area where she could receive guests, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was plenty of room for the furniture she had without being too tight.

“Are you sure this is my room? It’s rather large.” She’d expected a dorm-style room with just a bed and bathroom – if she was lucky to not have to use a community bathroom.

“Any major players in Overwatch – and believe me when I say that the head of the entire medical division is a major player – gets rooms like these on the eighth floor. They’re not luxurious by any means, but they’re comfortable and give you your own space away from everything else.” Well, when he put it that way it seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?

“I have to go – they’re probably wondering where I’ve gotten off to. Get some rest, doctor. You’re going to need it.” Jack made for the door.

“Thank you for your help Commander – and good night.”


	4. Failure

Meetings were the bane of her existence, but even she could acknowledge that they had their purposes. At least she managed to keep them from running over – but only barely. She had made the decision the night before to take a week to acclimatize to her new surroundings; she would get her things unpacked and learn the layout of this enormous base if it killed her. Gloria had been running the infirmary long enough; another week wouldn’t hurt anything.

She used the infirmary meeting to put names to faces and tweak the schedule, but for the most part it was to make herself known. There weren’t any changes necessary – that she had observed – so she left the infirmary staff pretty much alone.

The research and development meeting was more productive, seeing how she had outlined a few research ideas the day before. There were two research teams within the Zürich base, one of which was already working on a project assigned before she arrived. That was fine; she instructed them to keep her apprised and report to her with any of their needs or concerns. The second team she directed to expand on her research that had resulted in the healing stream. Specifically, she wanted them to adapt it for battlefield triage; if it could be expanded to work on more than one target simultaneously, more lives could be saved on the front lines.

While the meetings didn’t run over, she did find herself held afterwards by the second research team. They needed direction, considering the technology was so brand new. She didn’t even have dossiers or the research available to them yet – it was all trapped in the boxes in her office. She had explained the concept in as much detail as she was able, but had to cut the meeting short when she saw the time: 2:48. Here she was, disobeying her order to eat before her meeting with Captain Amari, but it couldn’t be helped. With promises to meet with them again as soon as possible, she excused herself from the meeting room calmly before bolting down the hallway.

She managed to get to her office with mere minutes to spare; in fact, she had just sat down in her chair when someone knocked.

“It’s open.” Angela called, looking up as the door swung open. A middle eastern woman was standing in her door, a small stack of files in her hands with a single sheet of paper on top. “You must be Captain Amari.” The Captain smiled and approached her desk to set the files down.

“And you must be the famous Dr. Ziegler. Let me take a look at you.” Angela obliged the woman by standing up again. The woman gave the doctor a once over before nodding to herself. Angela wondered what the woman was looking for, but it appeared that she was pleased by what she found. “Jack told me to brief you on the upcoming strike.” The two women sat, while Ana pushed the lone piece of paper in front of her. “They are set to travel to the Chieti province of Italy."

Angela nodded and put up a finger, asking silently for a pause, as she scribbled a few notes down on the paper. Fortunately, it was relatively close to home, so there shouldn’t be any need for specialized immunization shots. This was a good thing, seeing how – she glanced to the top of the paper – the team was leaving in less than a week.

“Sorry, Captain. Continue.”

“Please dear, call me Ana. We’re going to be working together often – you, me, and the boys.” Angela grinned at her calling the Commanders boys, but nodded anyways. “Anyway, we have seven agents that we plan to send on this mission. I have put together their files – medical charts first, followed by their personnel files – for your review.” Angela took the top folder and flipped it open to skim over, and paused. The file belonged to a man named John Morrison.

“Is this…?”

“The Commander? Yes. The Commanders and I are still active members, and you will see us on the field just as often as any of our agents.” Ana smiled at the blonde doctor gently. “We take care of our own, no matter where they are.” Angela nodded and glanced back down at the chart for a moment before looking back up at the older woman.

“I thought his name was Jack?” Ana threw her head back and laughed.

"His fathers’ name is also John, so he’s always been called Jack. He hates the name, so I wouldn’t go about calling him that.” Ana told her with a smile. Angela doubted that would happen – ever – with the way the man had directed her to use his title. Maybe once they’d worked together for some time they’d get along better; they didn’t exactly have the best start, what with her summarily dismissing him and his precious organization as often as possible.

"Any other surprises in those files, Ana?” She asked wryly, closing the file. Angela wanted to get started on this – they were shipping out soon – but she didn’t want to ignore the woman like she had, accidentally, Jack the night before. Ana laughed again, but shook her head.

“No, dear, that was the only ‘surprise’. Do you have any questions about the strike?” Ana asked, returning to the business at hand. What Angela wanted to know was where – specifically – in Italy they were going and what they planned to do, but she knew she’d never get those answers. She still held her reservations about these strike teams, regardless of how “necessary” the others believed them to be.

“Are there medical personnel traveling with the team?” She asked instead, sticking to the realm she was permitted. If she was more familiar with the names of her staff, she could flip through the files and figure it out herself quickly, but she hadn’t yet managed it.

“But of course.” Ana flipped through the files quickly and pulled the one in question out and offered it to her. “We send at least one medic with all strike teams. Even for missions considered low risk, we always send someone to ensure our agents come home.” Angela nodded and accepted the folder, settling it on top of Jacks’ file for review. “As the head of medical, you are responsible for making sure they are properly equipped to do their job.” Ana tapped the folder in question with one nail. “This one has been on a few missions before, so they can guide you should you need any assistance with the mission preparations – or you can ask one of us.” Angela nodded; while she didn’t want to appear incompetent, it wasn’t worth risking lives if she got it wrong.

“How dangerous is this mission?” Angela asked. If it had been Jack she’d asked, he’d probably give her that look again like he had in the elevator, but Ana nodded as if it were a sensible question. Of course it was – she needed to plan their medical supplies.

“This is a medium risk mission; what that means to you is that there will definitely be armed combat, but we believe that the target is minimally armed and unprepared for a strike which reduces the risks involved.” Angela scribbled notes on a separate sheet of paper as Ana continued to lecture her. This was a whole new world.

\---

“I think I can take it from here, Ana.” Angela said, thirty minutes later. Any other information she could easily request later. She imagined that these meetings would go quicker – or not occur at all if she could convince Jack that she should be in on their meetings – once she understood all their terminology.

“Very good, doctor.” The two women stood – one to leave and one to be respectful to her superior. The older woman paused in the doorway to glance back at their new doctor. “If you run into trouble – with the boys or with anyone else – don’t hesitate to ask for help and I will do what I can.” Angela smiled and nodded in understanding.

“I appreciate that, Ana. I think I’ve got it under control for now, but if that changes I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” The Captain quietly shut the door behind her and the doctor took her seat and opened a file. She didn’t have a lot of time.

\---

Angela drummed her fingers over her keyboard. She was reaching out to her three superiors on their team for the coming strike next week. It wasn’t quite important enough to bother them in person about, but she _was_ planning to deny one of their chosen agents; it appeared that they had overlooked that the man had broken his leg in a training exercise gone wrong and was unable to walk.

_Commanders, Captain,_

_I have reviewed the files of the agents for your mission next week and have found the following:_

  1. _Two need booster shots for a few vaccines, which is easily remedied._
  2. _Ahujah’s shoulder needs to be looked over before she can be approved for further missions._
  3. _Díaz has a broken leg and will be unable to participate in this strike._



_I have already set up appointments with the agents still in question. Please send me the file on your next choice as soon as possible, no matter the time._

_Respectfully,_

_Dr. Angela Ziegler_

She read over the email twice, to make sure there were no misspellings and that the information was correct, before sending it to the three. She imagined one of them would see the email soon enough and she’d get another file on her desk within the next day.

Then she turned her attention to the boxes in her office. While she had more boxes upstairs, these were the most important ones. All her original research was stored within them – though there were backups elsewhere in case of data corruption or an accident occurred. She needed to get everything unpacked and filed appropriately in her office, especially since her research team needed it as soon as possible.

\---

Aside from the Díaz issue, the strike team left without any further problems. They weren’t due to enter combat until three days after departure, but Angela made sure that the infirmary and operating rooms were ready at all times – just in case. The strike location was near enough that injuries might be sent their way, rather than another field hospital.

Now that she’d had time to unpack her boxes – except her kitchenware, which she shoved into a closet to deal with later – and learn her way around, she had taken over the infirmary from Gloria. She kept the woman as her second in command, as she was a great doctor in her own right, but Angela’s word was law on basement floor one.

She had begun combing through the personnel files of anyone who might go on a strike mission to ensure that everyone had the proper immunizations and physicals on file. Most of the staff were up-to-date on all required immunizations – militarization, once again, at its finest – but people slipped through the cracks. She kept her infirmary busy with appointments and physicals, making sure everyone was healthy and whole.

At one PM on the day the strike team was set to attack, Ana barged into the infirmary.

“I need Dr. Ziegler.” She commanded, glancing around the room for Angela.

“Here, Captain.” The blonde doctor stepped out from behind a curtained-off bed. It didn’t seem appropriate to call her Ana in front of so many people. “Dr. Freeman, please finish with my patient.” She ordered, stripping the gloves off her hands and casually passing them to the red head as she approached Ana. “What can I do for you?”

“Come with me.” Ana turned and walked out of the infirmary, a bewildered Angela hot on her heels. They ended up in Angela’s office, with the door shut for privacy. “I’m going to get right to it. Our intelligence on the strike was bad. Most of the team are injured – at least two are in critical condition – and the medic is dead.” Ana’s eyes were bleak, but her tone was professional. “We need two medics to go with our extraction team.” Angela’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out who was available – and suitable – to go.

“Take Daigneau and Remington; I think they’re the best medics I have right now. I’m pretty sure they’ve been on the battlefield a couple times too, so they aren’t green.” Angela said after flipping through the files in her head. “Are they being brought here?” She asked, as Ana rose. The older woman shook her head.

“We are sending the critical patients to our base in Naples.” Angela nodded.

“Get me transportation to Naples, then.” Angela ordered. She would be useless on the battlefield – she wasn’t trained for such tasks – but she knew how to run a surgical ward under pressure, and her hands would be better placed to work there. “I’ll get the medics, and myself, ready. When and where are we meeting?”

\---

Angela followed her two medics to the helicopter hanger. In her hands was the wand-shaped tool that was used to apply the healing stream. It would be no good on the battlefield, not as it was now, but it could be used in Italy to help the injured once they arrived.

“You’d better be here to see us off, doc.” Gabriel growled as she approached with her medics. She just rolled her eyes at the man and nodded.

“Of course, Commander. I’m not fit for the battlefield.” She acknowledged; maybe at some point she’d get the training necessary, but for now this would have to do. “While you’re out getting shot at, I’ll be preparing the operating rooms at the Naples base.” He nodded in understanding, since it was a good plan. She was the best doctor Overwatch had – she’d checked – and if she could be of use somewhere she would. There was no way she was going to sit around wringing her hands while there was work to be done.

“But seriously,” she pointed at his chest, “keep your men – and yourself – safe. We don’t need more wounded – or dead.” She ordered fiercely. Angela noticed the two medics at her side wincing at her tone, or it could have been the fact that she was ordering around one of the Commanders.

“Of course, doc. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He patted her shoulder before leading her medics onto the helicopter. She backed off as it, and another helicopter just like it, took off and watched them disappear into the horizon. They’d be landing in about two hours, and if things went well would be up within another.

She turned to the remaining helicopter. Her transport was a smaller helicopter, built for speed rather than carrying large loads. She climbed in without hesitation, and as soon as she was strapped in the pilot took them away.

\---

Fortunately, the Naples base was prepared when she landed on their roof nearly three hours later. She was met at the roof by the head doctor, Dr. Thomas Russo, with a status report. The operating rooms were being prepped with various necessities – blood bags and the like – and off-duty medical staff were being brought in to prepare for the incoming injured.

Angela strode into the infirmary two steps behind Dr. Russo and glanced around as they crossed the room. Six beds, no less equipped than the Zürich base, filled the room. Two personnel – doctors, nurses, or just random people from the base – scrambled around tucking supplies by each bed for triage and less-serious injuries. He led her to their operating rooms – thankfully they had more than one – so that she could review their progress.

Everything was going well, and she left the staff to their tasks as she got out of their way. She had no idea where anything was and would only hamper them; when the injured came in she would do her part.

Almost an hour after she arrived, they were sitting around waiting for news. Everything that could be prepped was ready for their patients. She had shown one of the doctors how to use the healing stream so that it could be applied where necessary in the other OR, since she knew she’d be much too busy to apply it herself. Angela had also taken the time to eat something, since there was no telling how long it would be until her next meal – or her next rest would be. Suddenly, the phone in the infirmary rang and a nurse scrambled to grab it.

“Captain Amari for you, Dr. Ziegler.” The woman called to her. Angela quickly took the phone.

“Ana, do you have an update?” She asked quietly, turning her back to the room in a fruitless attempt at privacy. The extraction team had to have been on the ground for at least forty minutes; if it was taking that long, there couldn’t be any good news.

“They’re in the air, ETA 10 minutes.” Ana reported, and Angela released her pent-up breath; at least they were on the way. She covered the receiver with her hand.

“Helicopter is landing in 10 minutes; get those beds up there!” She uncovered the receiver and ignored the room as it burst into action. “Do you have any word on the wounded?"

“Including your medic, we’ve lost three. Another is in critical condition. Two more are in urgent condition. Five more are injured, but stable and headed home to Zürich. You should know that one of the urgent injuries is Jack.” Angela nearly dropped the receiver in shock, but somehow managed to keep the object in her hand. Somehow she’d forgotten the possibility that he could be among the injured. _He’s not critical. He’ll be fine; I’ll make him fine._ She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Do you know what his injuries are?” Even though he wasn’t in critical condition, she knew that he would be the one under her direct care. Regardless of how well they got along, he was one of the Commanders and she had to do her best to keep him that way.

"Gabe said he was shot at least twice and there was a lot of blood.” Angela nodded.

“He’s AB+, right? I’ll stock my OR with it right away. What’s the name and blood-type of the critical patient? And the urgent patient?” She grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled her notes down. “Leave this to me, Ana. We’ll pull through.” Angela hung up and grabbed the nearest nurse.

“I need OR 1 stocked with AB+ and OR 2 stocked with B-. Immediately.” She let the woman run off and grabbed another. “You’re to direct Commander Morrison into OR 1. Jeannette Burroughs is to be put in OR 2.” She could only hope that the third patient could survive without surgery until the first two were done. She pushed the man to the main doorway where the beds would come from and went to scrub up in OR 1.

\---

She operated on Jack for over five hours. His left shoulder, left arm, and right leg had been shot. Angela set a second doctor to stitch up his leg – it was bleeding enough that she worried the femoral artery had been nicked – after she had poked around and made sure there was nothing hidden in the wound. A nurse worked on replenishing his blood levels; he was losing too much to be comfortable, but it was definitely sustainable. The shoulder was also worrying – especially since they had a hard time finding the bullet. An x-ray found the bullet lodged in the ball-joint of his shoulder. Carefully they removed and stitched him up, but she worried that he would lose mobility enough that she took her healing stream and had another doctor put it to work against his shoulder long enough that only a few stitches were necessary.

Once he was stabilized, she stripped off her gloves and ran to the other operating room, which was an absolute mess of blood and metal. Another scrub and a new set of gloves and she was squeezing up to the table. The woman was still losing blood faster than they could replenish it, even after the five hours they’d been working on her. She had been hit directly with a frag grenade that had shredded through her gear like tissue paper. They had managed to get quite a bit of the shrapnel out already, but the deepest wounds were bleeding fiercely – and many of her wounds still had metal wedged inside.

She was in that operating room for another two hours, carefully threading metal out of her wounds and trying to seal the wounds up – either with stitches or careful applications of the healing stream, which wouldn’t work with debris in her body – before she lost too much blood. They had finally gotten all the shrapnel out when she coded. Their best efforts could not resuscitate her, and they were forced to admit defeat at nearly eleven pm after nearly eight hours of surgery. If Angela had the energy to spare she would have been crushed by her death – any patient under her care was to be saved, not allowed to die, and any that didn’t survive weighed on her shoulders like a personal insult.

But there was no time to feel anything, not with still another patient, and she stripped off her gloves once again and went back to OR 1. Jack was no longer within, but the other urgent patient was. Compared to her last patient his case was simple – gunshot to the stomach – but it was still terribly serious. They probably hadn’t realized how serious it was in the air, but open on her table it was painfully obvious. If Jack had been literally anyone else, the patient before her would have been prioritized over him for fear that the stomach or intestines were damaged, which they were.

It was another losing battle; if he had been seen as little as two hours sooner he may have survived, but the hole in his intestines was severe and had allowed bacteria to spread. He died of sepsis after a little more than four hours on the operating table.

She’d been up since eight the previous morning – it was nearing eighteen hours that she’d been awake and working – but she still had a duty. She stripped the gloves off to go into the infirmary to call Zürich. It had been over eight hours since the injured had arrived in Naples, and only one of them had survived.

“Captain Amari.” The woman sounded tired, a sentiment Angela understood. At least she had the tiniest bit of good news – Jack was fine – but that was where it ended.

“It’s Angela.” She said, leaning against an empty infirmary bed to give her aching feet a small respite. Angela tiredly rubbed her eyes and brushed a stray lock back behind one ear.

“Is everything alright?” Concern laced her voice. Angela felt a sharp pang of guilt; she had forgotten to have someone call with an update for the woman – she was a little busy wrist deep in body cavities at the time – but it was no excuse.

“The Commander is fine. He’s got a ton of stitches, and he won’t be on the front lines any time soon, but he’s fine.” She'd decided to give the good news first, because telling Ana about him after two extremely horrible deaths on her table would be crueler than Angela could be.

“ _Alhamd lilah_.” Arabic filled Angela’s ears, but Ana’s tone _sounded_ relieved, so she could imagine the sentiments. “What of the others?” Angela bit her lip and bent her head, clutching the phone like a lifeline.

“I regret to inform you that both are dead. Private Jeannette Burroughs was declared dead at 10:49pm last night and Corporal Bolin Huang was declared dead at 1:17am. She died due to blood loss and he died from sepsis.” She couldn’t – wouldn’t – tell Ana that the Corporal may have survived had he been prioritized over their Commander. It had been her call to admit him directly without taking stock of the other wounded, which made his death solely her fault and responsibility. Ana muttered some more in Arabic before switching back to English.

“I’m sure you did everything you could for them, dear.” But she _hadn’t_ , and that was the problem. She’d done everything for _Jack_ – for the _Commander_ of this stupid organization – but not the ones that needed her _more_.

“Thank you, Ana.” Angela whispered thickly, unable to voice her failure without tears – and she didn’t have time to cry right now. She still needed to check on Jack again before she could find her own rest.

“The other injured landed here several hours ago. All have been treated, and I’m told they’re stable.” Ana told her, which was some relief. At least there was no more death, not today. “Find Gabe and report to him, then get some rest. You sound exhausted.” The woman ordered, not unsympathetically.

“Yes, Captain.” The line went dead, but still she sat there, phone to her ear, for a few minutes more. She hadn’t realized Gabriel was even here – but then again, he probably stayed due to Jack, rather than head back home – and she wasn’t looking forward to making a report in person.

Still, she had a duty to perform. She found a nurse and had them take her to wherever it was they hid Jack. They’d, unsurprisingly, put him in a private room with an agent stationed outside it. Wounded and vulnerable as he was – even if no one outside the infirmary and the strike team knew – she didn’t blame them for moving to protect their leader. She went to enter, but found her way blocked by the agent.

“Sorry, ma’am, but no one is allowed entry.” She raised an eyebrow – she was too tired to do anything else.

“My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, and I’m the one who spent five hours stitching him up, so you’re going to move aside and let me check on my patient.” The order would have sounded more impressive if her voice wasn’t so weary. She offered her badge to him, proving that she was actually the person she said she was. After an inordinate amount of time scrutinizing the ID, he allowed her entry.

Inside, the only sound was the soft beeping of the EKG machine. Jack was laying in the bed asleep, while Reyes was sitting in a chair against the wall. At the sound of the door opening he rose to his feet, guns in hand and a fierce look on his face.

“It’s just me.” She put her hands up defensively, as if that would help her in the slightest if he accidentally shot her. He blinked and put the guns down on a nearby table. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish.

“Sorry, doc. It’s been a long day and I’m a little jumpy.” He took a good look at her. “You look like hell. Here I am complaining, and your day was just as long.”

“Thanks; you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” She said dryly, moving further into the room to grab Jack’s chart and look him over. It had been nearly five hours since she’d last seen him – and he’d still been on the table when she left him. Carefully, she looked over the wounds and checked his chart for the medication and pain killers they’d put him on. After a few minutes of review, she nodded and turned back to Gabriel, who was sitting with a worried look.

“He’s going to be fine, Reyes. I saw to that myself.” She reassured him, tucking the chart back into its spot on the wall next to the bed. There was only the one chair in the room, so she leaned against the bed at Jack’s feet.

“I know, doc. I don’t doubt you; I’m sure he’ll pull through just fine.” He still looked worried, something Angela didn’t know how to put to rest. They were clearly close, the two men, and sometimes the only thing that removed worry was recovery. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Angela fighting off the incoming exhaustion, before she spoke again.

“I came to check on him and to give you a report.” She said, turning bleak eyes to the man on her left. He nodded for her to continue, eyes closed. “Both agents are dead.” Gabriel’s eyes flew open. “Private Burroughs died from blood loss due to injuries from a frag grenade, while,” she took a steadying breath, she could report and be _fine_ , “while Corporal Huang died from sepsis due to a gunshot wound to the stomach.” She realized, somewhat dejectedly, that there was a lot of paperwork in her near future for their deaths. “All other wounded have been treated back in Zürich and are currently stable.” She closed her eyes and leaned a little more against the bed, slumping her shoulders miserably with a bowed head.

“I’m sorry to hear that, doc.” Gabriel finally said. “They were good agents.” Of _course_ they were, and she’d let them die under her care. She bit her lip to keep the words to herself – she didn’t need him to witness her misery or hear her words of derision. “I know you – and the other doctors – did everything possible to save them.” She nodded and stood abruptly.

“I appreciate it, Reyes.” Angela turned her back to the man and made for the door, before her exhaustion allowed her sorrow to show. She had to show she was capable, professional, and getting upset over death – as a _doctor_ of all things – wouldn’t earn her any respect. It was a man’s world, and there was no room for a woman’s feelings in the world of medicine – or running Overwatch. “I’m exhausted. I’ll be right next door if you need me for anything.” She tugged the door open, surprising the agent on the other side.

“Doctor.” Gabriel’s voice stopped her, but she didn’t turn around. “Thank you for coming out to Naples. You didn’t have to – you could have stayed in Zürich – but you did. I won’t forget that.” She nodded silently and let herself out. Angela let herself into the room directly next door. Mercifully, it was empty. She slipped her shoes off and climbed onto the bed in the center of the room, letting the silence and darkness wash over her.

With the darkness came memory of the past eight hours. The blood and gore, the frantic suturing and desperation to try to save the person on the table. Mostly, though, she remembered all the things she did wrong. She didn’t check the patients and prioritize one over another; she’d just put the Commander first over everything. They hadn’t even entered her infirmary and she’d placed one over the other.

Because of her actions, Corporal Huang – at the very least – wouldn’t be going home. She wondered if he had a family. Surely there were parents out there somewhere – unless he’d been an orphan like her – or maybe a wife with children? She still had his personnel file, as well as Private Burroughs’; she’d find out and see if there was anything she could do for the families left behind.

She should have seen either of them first – Burroughs with her shrapnel or Huang with his gunshot were both more serious than Jack, even with the three holes in his body, and yet she hadn’t. There were many cases where there is truly nothing a doctor could have done, but she still had to wonder. If she had been with either of the deceased from the moment they arrived, would they have survived? Could there have been two, or even three, survivors of this tragedy? Were these deaths her fault?

The darkness had no answers. It merely shielded her as tears streaked silently from her eyes.


	5. Sanity

She was in the operating room, pliers in hand. Private Burroughs lay on the table, metal sticking out of her like a porcupine. There’s blood everywhere, the patient needed more – but every time she tries to speak, nothing comes out. The other doctors and nurses work blindly next to her, across from her, not noticing or realizing that the patient is dying, that she was trying to communicate. She tried to tear herself away, get the blood herself, but she’s trapped next to the body, forced to try to pull out the shrapnel as the woman just keeps bleeding. It was like bailing out a sinking boat with a cereal bowl – she was doing something but she may as well do nothing.

“Time of death, 10:49pm.” _I’ve failed her again._

She was standing over Burroughs again, scrambling to keep her alive. Pliers in hand, she carefully tugged the metal out of her body. She called for more blood, she was bleeding too fast. Angela turned to set the metal aside, and when she looked back it was lodged in her body again. _No, that can’t be._ Angela pulled the metal out and set it aside again. And again. _And again_.

“Time of death, 10:49pm.” _Not again, I can’t do this again._

She stood over Burroughs. “Time of death, 10:49pm.” _Please, no._

“Time of death, 10:49pm.”

Once again, she was over Burroughs in a fight to keep the woman alive. Pliers carefully tug out the shrapnel, needles stitch torn flesh back together. Blood, so much blood, it’s everywhere. There’s too much, _we need more blood_. They’re working nonstop, where one hand falters another picks up the slack. The bleeding has stopped, the wounds sutured shut. _Finally. I’ve saved her._

She turns, ripping off her gloves, there’s more patients that need her. The operating door flies open before her, and now she’s standing over Jack. _I thought I already saved him, why is he bleeding? Where are his stitches?_ There’s no time to think about that, she must stop the bleeding. There’s a scalpel in her now-gloved hand, she’s trying to find a bullet. _Where is it?_ It’s in here, she knows it is. They can’t heal him until it’s out, his body will reject the nanobots or the nanobots will reject him, but it doesn’t matter because _where is this stupid bullet?!_ Finally, it’s out, tossed aside like trash. Beam in, why is it going so slow? Nurse, hold this, keep it steady, she needs to deal with his leg.

It hasn’t stopped bleeding, why is it bleeding, why wasn’t this dealt with sooner? There’s a needle in her hand, she’s pulling his ruined flesh together. Over and over, she stitches and stitches, but it doesn’t stop bleeding. _Why won’t he stop bleeding?_ _Where is it coming from?_ Faceless nurses and doctors are standing around her, watching, why weren’t they helping her?

 _Why is he coding?_ There’s too much blood, he’s been bleeding too long. We’ve run out of blood, we need more blood. He can’t die, he’s the _Commander_. Overwatch needs him. We need more blood, we need more blood, _we need more blood_.

“Time of death, 11:27pm.” _No!_

\---

“Doc! Doc, wake up!” A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her even as she tried to force herself to sit up. She was momentarily disoriented – why was someone in her room? – before recalling the events of the day before. Her vision was blurry, what was going on? She scrubbed at her face to find it wet, but that wasn’t important. Her eyes found Gabriel looking concerned as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded, reaching up to pull her sleep-messed hair into a ponytail before standing up. She had no idea what time it was, but if Gabriel was in her room it meant that there was something going on with Jack. He didn’t appear panicked, so it probably wasn’t anything bad. Still, she started for the door before he could begin to speak.

“Wait, doc, stop!” He grabbed her arm before she could get more than a few paces from the bed. She turned to look at him, confused. “Jack’s fine. He’s still sleeping.” If Jack was fine, why were they even having a conversation? If the Commander was still sleeping she should be too. Sleeping and dreaming of how he died, how they all died, how there was _no more blood_. She shook her head slightly, as if that could chase the thoughts and dreams away. They’d be back – they always were.

“Why did you wake me up then?” There weren’t any other patients to worry about besides Jack, not anymore, and that was all she was good for – putting the broken back together so that they could break themselves some more. She’d seen the scars on Jacks’ body as she was carefully stitching him back together, and she knew that there’d be more from this little adventure – and those that would come.

“You were yelling.” He watched her carefully as she made a face. “Not loud enough to bother me or Jack next door, but the guard heard you.” She hadn’t realized she talked – or yelled, in this case – in her sleep. “He got me, and I came to investigate. You were yelling about blood.” _We need more blood._ “I figured I should wake you.”

She glanced down towards the ground. She knew she had nightmares – she always took her patient’s deaths hard and this time was no different – but she hadn’t realized it included shouting or crying out. Some doctors chose to drink or smoke when the stress got to be too much while others lost themselves in the touch of another; she carried the guilt on her shoulders like a scarf – or a chain – and dreamed while burying herself in work, hoping to reach a state of exhaustion that even dreams, and nightmares, couldn’t penetrate. It never affected her at work – nightmares are easily hidden and what doctor doesn’t look tired from time to time? – but now, well, now her work was her home.

“I appreciate it, but I’m alright. They’re just dreams.” Angela looked back up towards his face. “Occupational hazard, really.” She tried to offer a smile, but she was still too out of sorts from her nightmares and the sudden visit for it to be effective. Angela watched Gabriel search her face, but she wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“Are you sure? I got time; we can talk about it.” He said spreading his hands apart in offering. When she hesitated, he just sighed and crossed them back across his chest. “It’s fine. You don’t have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Me, Ana – hell, Jack’ll even hear you out.” She made a face. She highly doubted Jack would want to hear about the poor doctor having nightmares – even if he was starring in them. Gabriel made a _tsk_ ing noise. “You underestimate him, doc. He’s a good man; yeah, he’s stubborn, but he’s loyal and he’ll have your back. All of us do – because we’re a team.” He shook his head; he’d gotten off topic.

“Anyway. Battle changes and damages each of us.” She had never stepped foot onto a battlefield, so she had no idea what he was harping about. Her thoughts must have shown on her face because he continued, “If you believe for one second that you weren’t fighting a battle yesterday, then you are sorely mistaken.” He shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. Angela just stared at him, nonplussed. Surgery had never been considered a battle, though she supposed it could be. A battle to keep the patient from bleeding out, _where is the blood coming from_ , and to keep infection at bay. Still, she could never liken it to combat, where bullets were flying and maiming and killing.

“We all have our demons and nightmares to face, and there’s no reason for you to deal with it alone.” She couldn’t imagine the three of them having nightmares; they always seemed so strong and in control, all the time. Then again, they must have seen horrors she could only dream of on the battlefield. Still, that was something she’d always thought was left behind closed doors – acknowledged but never spoken about, even in the darkness – but she was also a private person, leaving her personal troubles at the door of the infirmary.

“You go ahead and get back to bed; it’s still early yet and I’m sure you’re tired.” He headed for the door without a second glance at her. He’d made she was okay and now he was leaving.

“I dream of the patients who die under my care.” She muttered as he passed her, head averted as if it were shameful – and to her, it was. She was ashamed of her failures – and every death, every drop of blood on her hands, that was a failure. Angela heard him stop and could feel his eyes on her. “They die over and over and _over_ , and there is nothing I can do to stop it.” She shrugged helplessly before looking up at the man. “If I made better choices, those patients would be alive. But they aren’t, so they continue to die in my nightmares.” It was a truth, bitter and awful, but truth nonetheless.

“Jack’s alive because of you.” He offered into the ensuing silence, and she scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound that she hadn’t realized she was capable of making.

“Jack would have been fine!” She snapped, and a tense silence filled the room, surprising both of them. It was obvious that Gabriel had no idea what to say to that statement, that he had no idea why she was so _angry_ about it, and she didn’t want him to say anything. There was nothing to say, because it was true. Any doctor in this ward could have cared for him, but she felt it was her duty to take care of him personally. She bit her tongue on the rest of what she wanted to say, how Huang would have lived, how Burroughs might have lived, if Jack had waited or even been seen by another, if she hadn’t heard ‘Commander’ and made him the top priority. Those words weren’t meant to be said aloud, _couldn’t_ be said out loud – and if they ever passed her lips it couldn’t be unsaid. She’d be lucky to keep her position; you can’t just say you should have put off emergency surgery on the Commander of _literally_ every person in Overwatch for another person.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered finally, breaking the oppressive silence. “I’m just stressed and exhausted and two people died _literally_ under my hands in the last twelve hours.” She was choked by her position of words she couldn’t say and torn by her duties to things she just couldn’t do, but she would survive. It was nothing she couldn’t handle alone – because she had to. There were too many things she couldn’t say to Ana or Jack or Gabriel, not without leaving behind a concern that could cost her the one thing that would give her access to helping people across the globe. In this, Gabriel was wrong; she had to shoulder this burden alone.

“It’s alright, doc. We all had a hard day yesterday. But those people that died?” Angela glanced up at him, finding that her eyes had fallen to her hands – _there’s blood everywhere_ – knowing what was coming and knowing she needed to hear it from someone else, even as she didn’t – wouldn’t – believe it. “Their deaths aren’t on you. They’re on Jack and me for sending them out there, and they’re on those people that shot them and left them for dead. You were just left to pick up the pieces.” She appreciated the sentiment, even though he was willfully forgetting that she had sent them just as much as he did – without her okay, they’d have stayed behind. If she had done her job properly, they’d have been okay. Their blood was on her hands – literally and figuratively – just as much as his.

“Thanks, Reyes. I really appreciate it.” There was nothing more to be said, not now – not as they were. As long as she worked for Overwatch, there was no one to confide in, not about this. As long as those above her were entering the battlefield, as long as they were getting hurt, there was nothing that could be said about this. Not to him, not to anyone. He must have heard the disbelief in her voice because she saw his hands clench, but he let it go.

“You should get some rest. I’ll wake you for breakfast.” Gabriel told her gruffly, turning to the door. “Please remember, doc, what I promised you weeks ago.” He murmured in the silence. His parting words stunned her into letting him leave unhindered, leaving her to the dark once more with a soft _click_. So much had happened in the last few weeks, but she didn’t remember a promise. In fact, she wasn’t even part of Overwatch weeks ago.

Unless he was referring to the phone call? No, he couldn’t. That hadn’t been a promise, had it?

Still, the thought made her smile despite herself. She’d never had friends before – she was younger than all the rest in school and during her residency, and then she only had associates and surgeons who worked under her and with her. There was no comradery, merely respect and the polite aloofness that one adopts with coworkers – especially since none of them knew what to do with someone so much younger than they were. Here, though, here she might actually have a friend. It was a nice feeling, one she hadn’t realized she was missing or even wanted.

“Goodnight, Reyes.” She whispered, but there was no one left to hear. Instead, she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was standing over Huang and there was _too much blood_.

\---

Before Gabriel knocked on the door, she was already awake. Without any personal items for herself – since that hadn’t been a priority the day before – she was finger combing her hair with the help of the bathroom mirror.

“It’s open!” She called, sighing at her disheveled hair and tugging the messy locks into another ponytail before trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles in her clothes. “Good morning.” Just one glance at him had her remembering the conversation from the night before. Already she was regretting it – she had said more than she had intended – but there was no way to take it back. She’d decided to pretend like it hadn’t happened, though she knew it would be easier said – or thought – than done.

His parting words from the night before were still ringing in her ears, but she forced them away. It was a kindness she didn’t deserve, one he wouldn’t offer if he knew the horrible thoughts floating in her head.

“Good morning, doctor. Jack’s awake.” That got her attention faster than anything else could have. How long had he been conscious, and why hadn’t she been called sooner?

“How long has he been up?” She asked, brushing past him and into the hallway before he could answer. She didn’t stop for the agent at the door, she pushed right past him too and into the room. Without looking she knew that Gabriel was on her heels.

“Commander,” she greeted the bleary-eyed man, whose sluggish reactions told her he’d been recently dosed with pain killers, “how are we feeling this morning?” She hoped it was morning, at least. Still, he was drugged up enough to not know the difference, either way.

“Ziegler.” She stepped closer to the bed to make it easier for him to focus on her. “What happened?” Angela frowned slightly, but grabbed his chart to hide her expression.

“You got shot, Jack.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled from behind her. Angela turned slightly to glare at the man; she needed to control this conversation, and he needed to be silent.

“I was shot?” The man moved to sit up, but Angela darted forward to put a hand against his chest. Though he was stronger than her – most people in Overwatch probably were – in his drugged state he was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Yes, Commander, you were shot. You need to lie still.” She turned to glare at Gabriel, because it was his fault that he was squirming under her hands. “Commander Reyes, I need the healing stream. Any of the medical personnel should be able to get it for you.” The order of, _go get it_ , was left unspoken but hung heavily in the air. While it was a ploy to get him to leave for a few minutes, it wasn’t an empty request. A few hours application would see Jack back to full health. She’d have done it yesterday, but she was too busy between her other surgeries and had been too exhausted afterwards to consider it. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, whether it was at the unspoken order or the clearly sarcastic use of his title, but he huffed and strode out of the room.

“Do you remember what happened?” She asked her patient once he finally relaxed in his bed again, her tone gentle. His brows knit together in confusion.

“No, I don’t, not really.” That wasn’t altogether unsurprising; trauma had a way of blocking itself out, and the drugs weren’t helping.

“That’s alright, Commander. Don’t worry about it at all.” She soothed. The last thing she needed was for the Commander of Overwatch to hurt himself under her care – especially since she _just_ put him back together. “I’m sure it will come back to you, just relax.” Angela allowed herself a moment to skim over the chart again. Aside from routine visits to provide antibiotics and pain killers, there was no changes.

“Do you have any water?” The man asked, and she glanced around the room. She turned to the small table, where Gabriel had left food and drink – presumably hers, since he told her he’d wake her for breakfast – but found no water for the man. There was a glass of orange juice, though. Quickly, she dumped the juice and rinsed the cup, before filling it again from the tap. There wouldn’t be anything in the water that should hurt him, and if there was, well, he was being pumped with enough antibiotics that it shouldn’t bother him.

“I’m going to shift the bed so you’re sitting up. Don’t move.” She pressed the button on the bed’s rail to slowly move him into an upright position. Once he was seated, she moved the cup to his lips. “Small sips, Commander.” She ordered, tipping the cup slightly to allow a little water into his mouth.

She pulled the cup away before he was satisfied, but she wasn’t about to let him drink himself sick. He could have some more in a little while; until then he would be alright. It was about that time that Gabriel returned, medical apparatus in hand. She smiled up at him as she pulled it from his hands.

“Thanks, Reyes.” Once more she leaned against Jack’s bed, but this time she was focused on the man within it, rather than the one hovering at her shoulder. “I’m going to patch you up, Commander. You’ll be better in a few hours.”

\---

Things moved quickly once Jack was fully healed. While the men ate, Angela slipped out to get paperwork for the two deceased. She wasn’t looking forward to filling them out, but it had to be done, and she knew they would be leaving for Zürich within the hour.

Paperwork and pen in hand, she let herself back into Jack’s room. They both looked up at her, at the pinched look on her face and the paperwork in her hand, and said nothing. Gabriel wordlessly held out an orange, which she gratefully accepted since she still hadn’t eaten that day.

She quietly reported to Jack what Gabriel and Ana already knew; she wasn’t certain if Gabriel had told him anything, but it was her duty to give the report. Then she sat and filled out paperwork, the two men quietly speaking to each other, while they waited for the helicopter to get ready to take them home. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it was rather nice.

The helicopter trip seemed to take no time at all, and soon they were home. Paperwork finished, she submitted it and leaned back in her office chair with a sigh. But she didn’t relax for long, because she had work to do.

She marched into the research department to find what the status was on the tasks she had set to them nearly two weeks ago. Her trip to Italy, and subsequent nightmares, had fueled a fire for new technology so that this never happened again.

The healing stream needed to be upgraded and mass produced. It needed to be able to recognize metal and other non-organic matter and push it out of the wound – or at least allow healing of other wounds – which would allow for battlefield medics to use the technology, even if there was a bullet or shrapnel in their wounds.

She still wanted a way to heal groups of people, but her changes were more important. If it can remove foreign matter, the mass healing would be that much more successful. She took point on the research, driven by the guilt that hung about her neck like a noose.

Every week she received reports of agents’ perishing, either in the field or in the infirmary. Every week she updated the personnel files and grieved for their passing, that her research hadn’t finished in time to save that person. Every week her resolve to finish this project, to save lives, grew stronger. Every week, her nightmares plagued her.

A month passed. She still had her responsibilities to the rest of Overwatch – she approved and denied strike team members for medical purposes and she still saw patients in the infirmary from time to time, and on two other notable occasions she had traveled to help patch up their agents – but her focus was in the research division. It was too important to her to leave alone, and she kept finding herself drawn to it. All too often she found herself waking early and leaving well after everyone else had gone. She skipped meals whenever she could get away with it. Her guilt and shame fueled her, drove her, to complete this task. She didn’t need to eat, she didn’t need to sleep; it kept the dreams at bay and got her that much closer to success. This was her secret, the reason why the healing stream came to exist as quickly as it had.

Her drive to protect people had forced her to work long hours with as few breaks as possible, to push aside anything that wasn’t pressing for the task at hand. She wanted, _needed,_ to protect those people under her care. All of these agents – including the Commanders and Ana – were hers to protect and shield, and she would be damned if she slacked on her research and lost more lives than necessary.

It had been nearly three months since she’d joined Overwatch, and she had practically ostracized herself; the infirmary was left nearly entirely to Gloria and she rarely talked to her superiors in person. She made herself meals in the kitchen off the infirmary at odd hours. She usually only saw other people while in the research lab. But she was making progress, and that was all that mattered. Still, all of her duties were completed before she lost herself in the lab. All mission requests were handled, all death reports filed; everything that the infirmary required of her, as the head, she took care of. And then she dove into her research with a single-minded devotion.

It was another day and she was alone in the research lab again. The others had left her some time ago – she wasn’t really sure how long ago it had been or even what time it was – and she was still writing furiously. She was close, she could feel it. She just needed to figure out what _it_ was – but it was there.

And then the door to the research division banged open, startling her and drawing her attention away from the task at hand. Gabriel walked across the room to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.

“I’ve heard rumors that you haven’t been taking care of yourself, doctor.” She wondered which of her research assistants had alerted him to the way she was working herself. It didn’t really matter, since she wouldn’t punish them for worrying, but she wondered all the same.

“I’m in perfect health, Commander. I’m also very busy.” She retorted, though she was probably stretching the truth. “Was there something you needed from me?” She had just sent them a response for the recon team they were sending out a few hours ago, but as far as she knew they had no further need for her.

“Do you even know what time it is?” Angela winced, both at his tone and at the fact that she did not. Probably late if he was in here scolding her like a child sneaking out to get just _one_ more glass of water.

“Twelve in the morning?” She hazarded; he was still awake, so there was a possibility that it was still – relatively – early. He stared at her before shaking his head in exasperation.

“It’s nearly three.” How had it gotten so late? And for that matter, what was _he_ still doing up? She should wrap it up here anyways since he had interrupted her train of thought and there was no way of salvaging it.

“I must have lost track of time.” Angela responded smoothly, no hint of the surprise at the time emerging from her tone. “Why are you still up?” She asked as she turned back to her table, carefully putting away her tools and equipment and shuffling her notes into a tidy pile. There was a (not-so) perfectly good reason for her being up, but she didn’t think anyone else would be up just as late.

“Jack and I were caught up planning. We just called it a night.” He explained, without really explaining anything. She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh. And you just decided to waltz down here instead of going to your bed?” She asked, rising with a yawn. Now that she’d been made aware of it, she could feel exhaustion tugging at her. She was barely getting five hours of sleep most days, but it wasn’t stopping her from keeping late nights.

“Like I said, I heard you’ve been working late these past few weeks. I figured I’d send you off to bed if you were still down here.” He shook his head at her, but turned towards the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

“You just don’t trust me to actually go to bed.” She accused, but she followed him anyway.

“Guilty as charged, doctor.” He replied, holding the door for her. They walked in an amicable silence to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, he turned to look her over. “Is there anything you want to talk about, doc?”

She knew he was referencing their conversation from Naples and the recent change in her work schedule. Angela glanced away, biting her lip and shaking her head softly. There was plenty for her to talk about – why she chose this project, why she had chosen to bury herself so soundly in her work, how she knew about every. single. death., how she needed a breakthrough to come soon or she might lose herself to her nightmares for good – but she didn’t know how to breach that gap. Instead, she chose to keep herself closed away, protected by late nights, silence, and darkness. Gabriel sighed.

“Keeping that shit locked away won’t help you, doc.” He told her as the doors opened to the eighth floor. He walked her to her door, bid her a good night, and sought out his own bed.

She knew he was right, but what could she do? Silence and darkness had been her protector, where she could lose all of her shields and walls, even as it brought with it sleep that wreaked havoc in her mind.

_\---_

That night marked a turning point. Every few days, one – or more – of the three would seek her out. Sometimes it was at lunch or dinner time, where they’d force her out of the lab for an hour to eat and relax. Other times it was later in the evening – not quite so late as that first night, but late enough – and force her to go to sleep. She had been tempted to sneak back to the lab, but she didn’t want to draw their ire. They were being understanding enough. She began to bond with the other three, finding friendship that she hadn’t expected to find – even from Jack.

It didn’t stop her from holing herself away as often as possible for as long as possible, though. She knew they meant well, but she needed to do this. For all those people in the field, and for her sanity, she would do this.

Another month passed, and she finally found a break through – they didn’t call her a medical genius for nothing. They were nearing the end of their research – at least on this topic – and Angela couldn’t be more pleased. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could move on to the next research project and her next stepping stone.

\---

The next time Gabriel sought her out – for dinner, as it were – she had a question for him. It was something she’d been considering for some time, but now with her research wrapping up she might be able to pursue it.

“Do you think I can get battlefield training?” She asked as they sat down in the canteen, trays of food before them. He choked on his water, coughing harshly and clearing his throat, before looking at her incredulously.

“Excuse me?” He placed the water carefully on the table, as if treating it gently would change her request.

“You heard me, Gabriel. I want to learn how to work in the field.” More like _needed_ to work in the field. Now that they had the new-and-improved healing stream, it needed to be out in the field and so did she. There was so much good to be done, so much death to be avoided, on the front lines.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Angela.” He said finally, before taking a bite out of his meal.

“Why not? You three are always out there.” She retorted, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair. She felt like a sulky child, but it was nothing but the truth.

“Do you think it’s a game? That we enjoy it?” He asked darkly, glaring at the blonde across from him. Her eyes widened. That wasn’t her intent at all.

“No, not at all!” Angela insisted, shaking her head. “I want to help. I hate watching the rest of you leave, wondering if you’re returning in one piece or in a body bag – or somewhere in between!”

“And you think we want _you_ coming home in a body bag?” Angela winced. That was a very real possibility that she had entertained, but had determined to be an acceptable risk.

“I can be trained for the battlefield, Gabriel.” She insisted, leaning almost across the table. “ _Please_. I need to be out there, protecting our agents.” She begged.

“Angela, we can’t afford to lose you.” His voice was firm. “Please, don’t pursue this.” She sighed, slumping her shoulders and easing back in defeat.

“Eat your dinner; you miss enough meals as it is.” He stared her down until she took a grudging bite.

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence.

\---

When Jack came to her a few days later – also to take her to dinner – she tried asking him, despite Gabriel’s warning not to.

“I want to work in the field.” She was almost positive Gabriel had already told the other two – mostly because she knew that _he_ knew that she was going to be stubborn – but she still had to try. Jack glanced over at her and pressed the elevator call button.

“And why do you think we’d let you do that?” He asked, not letting on whether or not Gabriel _had_ talked to him. She stared at him, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason as to why they would let _her_ over anyone else – but she knew why _she_ needed it. Still, she had to try.

“So that I can heal and protect those on the front lines; to reduce the amount of deaths and career-ending injuries; so that proper prioritized care can be provided at all time, from the time of injury to the time of extraction; so that I can watch your back before you get another bullet put in it,” she counted the reasons off on her fingers, “and because I can’t keep watching the three of you from the sidelines anymore. I want to _do_ something, to make a difference.” Jack nodded.

“I understand, Angela, but it’s not that simple. You’re not a soldier. You can’t even protect yourself – and I doubt you would, even if you could.” She wanted to be offended at his words, but she couldn’t, not when he was right. She couldn’t bear to see another in pain, it went against everything she held dear. It was the main driving force for why she wanted to be on the battlefield in the first place. Hurting another with her own hands… she couldn’t imagine it. “It would be too dangerous. You’re better off here – or in another base, preparing for our wounded.” The doors slid open.

“There are others who can take your place on the battlefield, but there is no one who can replace you here.” His voice was apologetic, even as he denied her request. She bit her lip but nodded. He was right – there were other people that could take her place on the battlefield. It wasn’t what they had brought her in for; she was needed for her innovative genius and skills in her infirmary.

“For what it’s worth, Angela, I am sorry.”

“I know, Jack. It’s alright.” It wasn’t alright, it was the absolute opposite of alright, but there was no use arguing when his mind was made up. He was like her in that regard.

\---

Ana was no better.

“I know what you want, Angela. You’ve already been told no.” The older woman greeted her when Angela followed her after a meeting. Angela frowned, and sighed. At least she didn’t pretend that they weren’t all talking about the good doctor’s latest crazy idea. That was kind of her, at least. “Even if I wanted to let you onto the field – which I don’t – we need you here.” Her voice was kind. “I know you don’t want to stay behind and see us get hurt, but your heart is too gentle for the battlefield.” And that was the sticking point; as long as she was who she was they wouldn’t let her within ten miles of a battlefield – and as long as she was who she was, she wouldn’t stop pursuing it.

Angela knew they were coming from a good place, that they weren’t _purposely_ trying to frustrate her – they were trying to protect her from the horror of battle and from, you know, getting hurt or killed. It didn’t make it any less frustrating. She wasn’t asking to be handed a gun and thrown in front of the enemy, but they were acting like the moment she was a member of a team she’d fall over dead.

“My skills would be valuable on the battlefield, Ana.” She insisted as the two walked towards the elevators. “I just need a little training.” Okay, maybe a lot of training – she wasn’t really sure how well she would fare on a battlefield.

“Dear, you would need more than ‘a little’ training.” Ana corrected gently, as if reading her mind. “You don’t have the ability to keep up with the agents or avoid the bullets. And all the training in the world won’t save you if you’re hit – and there’s only one of you.”

“But there’s only one of _you_ – and _Jack_ and _Gabriel_ – but you go out on the battlefield! I put Jack back together only a few months ago!” She flushed at the whine that had crept into her voice, she didn’t want to be treated like a child and sounding like one wouldn’t help, but damn it they couldn’t treat her like glass!

“Angela, we fought in the Omnic Crisis, long before Overwatch existed. We are more than prepared for the battlefield.” _You are not_ rang unsaid in the silence.

“We just want to keep you safe, Angela. Let us protect you.” Ana told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“But if you’re protecting me, who’s protecting you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, Part 2 of this Series "Memories" is set between this chapter and the next one.


	6. Desperation

"Alright, doc, let's wrap it up." Angela glanced up at the clock to find it was midnight already. She glanced back at Gabriel before turning her attention to her work before her.

"Just a sec, Gabriel. Give me a few minutes." It was the same line she fed each of them whenever they came down to her lab to drag her away. As always, he sighed and sat in a nearby chair, spinning idly as he waited for her to finish and put her tools away.

They'd finalized the healing stream upgrades just the other day; it could heal wounds faster, but they hadn't managed to get it to cooperate with removing anything larger than a .30 round – which was, admittedly, better but still wouldn't help for a large portion of injuries. The only downside was the amount of power required; that forced them to be used in the bases and not on the field, which was the whole point.

She was heading up a solo project, trying to make it work on the battlefield, while her team returned to forcing the technology to work on multiple people. She was getting in their way and had been considering for some time moving into her office – or setting up another one for her to research in privately – to make it easier on everyone. It would also help her with a project she wanted to work on without the others noticing – or knowing.

Around two months ago, Ana had said she wasn't capable of keeping up, and that was completely true. She simply didn't have the time to dedicate to maintain the level of fitness required like the rest of her combat medics, not with her responsibilities to _every_ infirmary under the Overwatch umbrella as well as all the medical researchers – plus there was her travel when things got dicey.

That didn't mean she couldn't _make_ something that could give her an edge. Technology was amazing and could create limbs out of metal and knit flesh with light; if she put her mind to it, she could make it happen. But if her friends – her _superiors_ – found out what she was doing, they'd pull the plug faster than her head could spin. It had to be done in secret, at least until she could prove that she _was_ capable.

"I'm thinking of moving into my office to research from now on." She said idly, standing up with a stretch. "Not to do anything dangerous – that requires the lab still, of course – but to do everything that comes before."

"Really? What brought this on?" He asked, returning to his feet and leading her towards the door.

"I'm still working on fine tuning the healing stream, but all the other researchers have been assigned other projects. We're getting under each other's feet and it's really frustrating on all sides." She sighed. "I just wanted to let you know, so that if you can't find me that's probably where I'll be."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll let the others know." Angela nodded. She knew he would; he was the one who had convinced the other two that she needed baby sitters. It was annoying, since the whole reason she was throwing herself headlong into her research was to try to avoid the pain of more deaths and the nightmares that came with them, and they were stopping her from achieving her goal. Still, she knew they were coming from a good place – so she didn't complain _too_ much.

Angela stepped into the elevator and braced herself on the wall, closing her eyes. Today had been long, but not long enough. She could feel it. She heard the doors shut and the elevator began to hum and vibrate slightly as it lifted them up the eight floors. They traveled in silence – which wasn't too uncommon – with her lost in thought.

"Angela?" Her eyes slid open, mildly startled – she hadn't noticed the elevator come to a stop. The doors were open and Gabriel was halfway out, his frame blocking the door from shutting. "You alright?"

"Yeah, sorry Gabriel." She muttered, rolling her neck and stepping out of the elevator after him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, glancing down at her as they moved down the hall. She worried her lip, and with a sigh shook her head. "Want to talk about it?

Did she want to talk, really? No. She kept her feelings close to her chest and suffered the nightmares alone. She never let it affect her work – in fact, it spurred her to work harder, to do better, so that maybe more people could be saved. She was almost always the first to work and the last to leave, working long hours with less rest and food than those around her.  
  
It had been a little over six months since she had joined Overwatch. Six months of reading about dead agents that she had failed, of not enough sleep and too many nightmares, of failures in the research division and the operating room. Six months, and she felt she had not done her part, held up her end of the bargain – and so people, innocents and agents alike, were suffering for it.

Maybe if she opened up a bit – about her nightmares, Naples, and the KIA reports she endured – she might get them to back off and let her work unhindered if he understood exactly _why_ she threw herself into her work with no regard for herself or the time. It wasn't just because she had a strong work ethic – though she did possess one of those as well. It was her responsibility – her _duty_ – to complete her tasks as quickly as possible, and that required sacrifices on her part.

If she was lucky, maybe the nightmares would let up, just a little. She knew the bags under her eyes were from more than just long nights and early days – and she was pretty sure Gabriel did too.

Besides, she was just so damn tired. It wasn't just a physical exhaustion, but also a mental one. She kept everything so close to her chest, and there was no escaping it here. She _literally_ lived it, all day every day, and each day found her with more reasons to be guilty and more reasons to berate herself. Like he had said, she really _should_ talk to someone. He was right about that – and he'd cared enough to offer at the beginning, before he even knew her – and he was still offering, months later.

Still, she wasn’t one to burden another unnecessarily – especially for something so personal.

“It’s late, and I know we’re both busy.” She deflected. “You need sleep, not to listen to my problems.” She was babbling, she knew it. “I can figure it on my own. Don’t wo–”

"Angela." Gabriel's voice silenced her abruptly, and she flushed. "It's fine. I've got time.” He assured her. “Do you want to talk?" She nodded, a jerky motion of her head, worrying her lip, before striding off to her room. Maybe she’d feel better once it was done, if only for a night. Maybe she’d just feel worse.

She wasn't sure she wanted to talk within the confines of her room – or his – at midnight; it felt too much like an invasion of privacy, too intimate for friends, but they were already up here. Still, she had brought this upon herself; if she'd brought it up in the basement they could have gone to her office or _literally_ anywhere else, but she hadn't and now she was stuck with this. They could sit in the living area that still wasn't quite put together after all this time, that would be fine, right? She swiped her card to let them in and flipped on the light.

"Go ahead and sit anywhere, make yourself at home." This _wasn't_ awkward, it _wasn't_. Gabriel was completely cool and she was acting like an idiot, but all she could think about was what _others_ would think if they saw Gabriel leaving her rooms after midnight – though why anyone else would be up was beyond her. They were friends, but even attempting to insist that was all it was would just get her knowing, sidelong looks and gossip as she walked past. She already put to bed Gloria's outrageous insinuations that she had slept with one – or both, possibly at the same time – of the Commanders to get her position and she didn't want to revisit it, even if she'd already proven herself more than capable.

She crossed the room to grab a bottle of water. She probably could do with something stronger, especially given the rats nest she just decided to dive into, but it was what she had.

"Want one?" She offered, and then grabbed another when he nodded yes. He'd sat on the end of one of her couches, and, after giving him his water, she curled up on the loveseat across from it. She took a long swig.

"I want to talk about Naples." He looked surprised; it was obvious he hadn't expected her to say that. It had hung over them, between them; an unspoken question, for far too long, and she was willing to bet he'd expected to never get an answer. Then again, it had been months since that incident; maybe he didn't expect it to bother her anymore.

It was hard to be unbothered when you dream of their deaths – of their blood on her hands.

"So. Naples?" Gabriel replied, when it was obvious she was at a loss for words or was just hesitant to continue.

"Right. Naples." If she closed her eyes, she could probably see the operating rooms again – she decided to keep them open. "It goes back a bit farther than Naples." She admitted with a sigh. He stayed quiet, letting her pick her own way through what she wanted to say. Angela worried about saying too much, to say something that should never be said – not to him, not so long as he was Overwatch, was _Commander_ – but forced the thought away. She was here now.

"I don't play God – at least I don't think I do – not like other doctors or surgeons might." She knew she was more skilled than others here – than others at previous hospitals, even – but she tried to stay humble as much as possible. She was open to suggestions and to critique, as long as it was constructive. She pulled rank when it was necessary and did her best to give all of her patients – across the globe, now – the best care possible. She trusted her staff to do their jobs, that she wasn't the _only_ one that was capable of seeing patients.

"I give my all to my patients; they're all that matters, you know? They need to get better, and I can do that – whether it's with stitches or with the healing stream, I can do that. I can put the pieces back together." She closed her eyes – not for too long, but there was the blood on linoleum floor – and opened them again before the patient could come into view.

"But when a patient dies? When my best, when my all, _isn't_ good enough and their lives slip through my fingers? It is the worst feeling in the entire world. That life is gone, and I didn't save it." She blew out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the floor so that he couldn't see the emotions swimming in them. She didn't need to see his face, his body language; she just needed someone that would listen to words that had never seen – could never see – the light of day. She needed to pretend that there wasn't water on her cheeks for another to see, that her shame wasn’t visible to prying eyes.

"When they're gone, a weight settles on my shoulders, around my neck, my throat, and it's everything I can do sometimes to keep breathing." Her hands fluttered uselessly around her neck, trying to explain the feeling and failing. "It's like a scarf of guilt and sorrow and shame, all rolled into one." These were feelings that she had carried since the beginning of her medical career, and yet she kept at it. The chain of guilt dragged at her, but she forced herself to carry the weight upon her shoulders, her heart, her soul; and yet, as it depressed her it was her strength to work her long hours and continue facing death.

"That's normal, Angela." He broke in, but she didn't glance up. "You're human; you're gonna feel guilty about their deaths." She smiled, a thin, brittle gesture, and shook her head bitterly.

"That scarf never gets smaller; it just keeps getting bigger. The guilt never leaves me." Her expression turned remorseful. "I can still remember the first patient that died under my care – I'd tell you about her if it wasn't against all kinds of laws – when I first started my residency years ago. I remember the latest agent – Alfonso Rodriguez in Brazil, who I didn't travel to see because we're too far away to make a damn bit of good for him, who died after seven hours on the operating table from six gunshot wounds: four to the chest, one to the leg, and a graze across the temple. I can remember the rest in between." Of course she remembered them. They haunt her nightmares, waiting for the right time to pounce. Her latest hell was the KIA reports, which came with graphic pictures – and then it was all too easy to imagine operating on them, and failing them, herself.

She was imaginative like that.

"They haunt my dreams – my nightmares. All the patients that I've had die under my watch – my patients in the hospital, my agents in the field." She whispered, probably barely loud enough for him to hear but it was enough for her.

"Like in Naples." Gabriel said, and she nodded.

"Like in Naples." Angela confirmed. "Though Naples was its own special kind of terrible." Before Naples – and since – she'd never dreamed of a patient that survived. Now, when she dreamed of Huang and Burroughs, she'd sometimes see Jack – and he'd die. She could never save him in her dreams, because to see him meant she'd saved one – or both – of the other two. She was certain that it was the guilt of the other two that she'd put off that had triggered it, but it was still disconcerting. Some mornings she found herself needing to double check that he was alive – that it was a dream, not real – and she'd check the patient logs and reassure herself that there was no entry on the "date of death" line.

"But I still dream of them – Huang and Burroughs. Not as often as when it first happened, but they show up with the others of my past." She wrung her hands, pressing too tightly but it helped ground her and make her force the words out – she'd done this to herself and she'd see it through. "But sometimes," voice choked, she finally looked up to Gabriel, who was watching her intently with no sign of judgement, not yet, but she _had_ to see his response, "sometimes, I see Jack, too."

Gabriel didn't disappoint. He looked shocked, and he ran a hand over his closely shaved head, at a loss for words. He looked away from her gaze, before returning to hers with clenched hands, his expression still shocked, but also filled with fierce determination and anger.

"Jack didn't die, Angela. He's a few doors down right now." He said, voice low and full of danger. "Is there something you left out in your reports?" He suddenly stood, as if he couldn't have this conversation sitting down. She shook her head quickly. Of course that was his first concern: the Commander, his best friend, who could have been damaged under her hands – the hands that let two others die that day to save him. "Did he die on your table?" _Did you bring him back?_ rang unspoken in the room.

"No! He never coded, not under my hands nor under any others. He didn't die, I swear it." Angela insisted, her hands fisting in her lap, nails biting into her palms hard enough to draw blood. That he'd think she'd blatantly lie was absurdly offensive. Regardless of her failures – many of which she’d enumerated here tonight – she was a professional, first and foremost.

"If he didn't die, then why is he in your dreams, Angela?" He practically growled. This wasn't how she imagined this conversation; she'd never imagined he'd get so worked up. “You said it yourself: you dream of those who _died_.” She flinched, the words stinging like knives.

"Because, Gabriel," she forced herself to keep her eyes on his face, "I could have saved them, but not if I saved Jack." The words were bitter and ugly and all kinds of wrong, but they were a truth she had worn on her heart since that day. Even as she worried that she shouldn't have said it, that it would come back to bite her, she felt a little relieved.

She'd never _truly_ had to pick between patients before, not on this level. Patient surgeries would be moved around, reprioritized – no, that benign tumor removal wasn't as urgent as the appendectomy, which wasn't more important than the man with half of his stomach outside of his body – but they would all be seen. For the first time, she was responsible for choosing who was most important, and putting someone ahead without regard to injury but with complete regards to who they were had never been a possibility on her radar until long after she'd made the decision. It had been so right, felt so right, that she hadn't questioned it, because Jack was the Commander, and without the Commander Overwatch would be compromised, would be less, and how did that help the world – or the countless under his protection?

"What the hell does that even mean?" Gabriel snapped after a moment, and she sighed again, delving into the memories and the nightmares.

"Ana had called, letting us know you were only a few minutes away. Then she told me that Jack was hurt and coming to Naples. Without seeing the patients that were coming in, without any other knowledge, I made Jack my priority. He was to be seen by me, only me, the rest be damned. I can't say if my choice was good or bad, right or wrong. Neither can you." She threw her hand up when he opened his mouth to speak; she wasn't done. She couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until the words came out – she wasn't sure she could stop even if he begged her to.

"What I can say is that two people died that day. If I had waited and looked the three over, maybe there would have been more survivors. Maybe Jack would have died." She drew in a ragged breath. "Instead, I chose Jack." Her voice broke, forcing her to pause and collect herself for only a brief moment. She felt the tears on her face, but ignored them – if she acknowledged them she would be incapable of speech. " _I chose Jack_ , and I'm glad he lived. I don't regret it." And she didn't. Jack was important and he made a lot of difference in the world at the head of Overwatch; many who lived were saved due to his judgment or action in the field. Two agents were nothing compared to that, as much as it twisted and pained her heart, as terrible and awful as it made her feel as a person, she could not change that truth.

She was capable of weighing life against life and picking who was most worthy. It made her heart hurt, her soul ache, but she could – and would – make those choices and allow some to die so others would live. That was the person she was becoming, the person she _had_ to become to be worthy of the position she held, and she didn't know if she could face herself in the mirror. Overwatch was changing her, and she didn’t know if she liked this person she was becoming.

"But two people died, and maybe one more could have lived if I let Jack wait just a little while or if I'd let someone else take point on his surgery." Her voice turned bitter and the words came faster, as if a small leak had suddenly turned into a flood. "But it's my duty to do the most good, and Jack was the most good – even if his life came at the cost of two others." She scrubbed at her eyes, her cheeks, embarrassed at the emotion.

" _That_ , Gabriel, is why I dream of Jack. Because my _duty_ to him, to you, to Overwatch, forced me to choose him over more critical patients, patients that bled out under my hands, _and I don't regret it._ " Her voice broke again, hands rising to her lips as if it would hide the sound. She tilted her head down, loose strands of hair fanning around her face, waiting for him to yell at her – tell her that her thoughts were wrong, she was wrong, that this entire conversation was _wrong_.

The words that should never have been said, not to anyone – especially not to one of the Commanders of Overwatch, _Jacks best friend_ , of _all_ people – had been said. She couldn't take it back, there was no turning back – but she couldn’t go on like this. These words, these feelings, had been weighing on her for far too long.

"I choose _._ " Angela whispered, voice thick, the silence roaring in her ears. " _I_ choose who lives and who dies." She buried her face in her hands, shaking with emotion even as she tried to pull herself back together.

She felt the cushions of the couch shift under her as his weight settled on the couch next to her. Their shoulders brushed as he got comfortable. When he relaxed against the back of the couch, they weren't touching, but it was a very near thing; the couch wasn't that spacious and he wasn't exactly a small man. She didn't, couldn't, wouldn't look at him – but whether it was from shame or fear she couldn't tell. They sat in silence, him waiting while she regained her composure, her waiting for him to speak.

"Angela." His voice was still rough, but much calmer than it was before he'd set her off. She hunched her shoulders as if she could make herself smaller, waiting for the reprimand that was sure to come. He sighed. "Angela, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have."

Of all the things for him to say, an apology was nowhere on the list of things she'd expected.

"It's okay." She muttered, wiping at overfull eyes in a vain attempt to exert some control over herself, she was an _adult_ , there was nothing to cry about. A little while later, when she managed to get the waterworks to go away and had taken a swig of water, Gabriel spoke again.

"Are you sure you want this? Overwatch?" A jolt of fear surged through her; the absolute last thing she needed was to make him, the others, doubt her ability to perform her duties.

"Yes!" She replied fiercely, glaring up at him with slightly-red eyes. "I need Overwatch as much as it needs me; I was foolish not to see it before." And it was true. She needed the ability Overwatch gave her to make a difference, to help people, and being taken from it would be somewhat akin to cutting her arm off. Her duty, her calling, was to helping others – even with the guilt and shame that came with it. Even if she didn’t like this person she was becoming, she could see the good in it. Gabriel put his hands up defensively.

"Just checking." He ran a hand over his head and leaned back into the couch. "If you ever change your mind, if it ever gets to be too much, you don't have to stay." He told her sincerely, though his gaze was fastened to the wall. "I won't – _we_ won't – force you to stay. Not if this is the cost."

"Nobody is forcing me, _Commander_." She retorted, the title pulling his gaze back to her. Her voice softened. "Gabriel. I won't run and hide; my guilt and my shame guides me and strengthens me – even as it tears me down. I bury myself in my work – not only to forget and exhaust myself, but to remember and do better for the next patient down the line. I work and work, so I can get better – _become_ better – because that’s what I have to do. My burden, my honor, is in building the tools that will save lives." She could do no less.

"As long as you're sure." She nodded, shoulders relaxing back into the couch next to him.

After another long silence, but one not filled with tears, he rose from the couch.

"Do you still need me, doc?" He asked gently. She shook her head. It was late and she'd said all she needed. The darkness could hold her for the rest. "Then I'm going to head to bed. You should do the same."

"I will, Gabriel." The blonde rose from the couch with a small stretch. "Thank you for listening."

"Anytime, Angela." She shifted awkwardly on her feet as he headed to the door. He'd just pulled the door open when she blurted out, "Please don't tell them about tonight." They both knew she meant Jack and Ana; she couldn't stand it if all three of them knew her thoughts, her shame. Ana would just try to coddle her more and Jack might just fire her if she got any more difficult.

"Your secrets' safe with me, doc. Don't worry." He stepped into the hall and let the door shut behind him. She turned away, preparing for sleep. When she finally crawled into her bed, there weren't any tears.

But when she opened them, she was in the operating room.

\---

The next day she shifted her research base to her office, where she was more productive in all aspects. Reports were easily dealt with as her hands scribbled notes and ideas; her mind was in a hundred different places, from mission rosters to research and back to reports from different watchpoints and bases across the globe.

She thought it would be awkward with Gabriel, that he'd treat her differently after practically crying into his shoulder for most of the night, but she was wrong. He treated her the same way he always did. From what she could tell the others didn't know, he had kept his promise to her, and that made her even more grateful.

Nearly three weeks later she had finalized the design for both of her research projects – both the secretive one as well as the much more public one. She started the creation process, putting life to her work, carefully ensuring that her secret project was kept from prying, caring eyes. Even though she knew she was disobeying orders, that it would just cause her more heartbreak, she had to go into the field. She _had_ to.

She hadn't finished the prototypes when her phone lit up, the ringing interrupting her concentration. She rolled backwards to grab the phone, resting it between her shoulder and ear carefully, and began working again.

"Dr. Ziegler." She acknowledged.

"Angela, we need you in the command center right away." Jack's voice ordered.

" _Verstanden_. I will be up in five minutes." She hurried to put her tools away and hide away the suit she had been building. Once it was created she would have to show them, there was no way to hide the testing, but she was hoping that by then they'd at least give her a chance. After everything was in its proper place, she grabbed her white lab coat and left the room quickly.

The elevator was far too slow for her liking, but she made it to the fifth floor without any issues. She moved towards the control room at a quick trot, darting past a handful of people that were going about their business, before knocking sharply on the door.

Ana pulled the door open and ushered her inside quickly.

"There's been an attack." She murmured to the doctor as they strode towards the men standing at the far side. The whole room was a technological marvel, with many screens on the far wall showing off what looked to be the result of an explosion. Normally it could show cameras from anywhere in the world, or various drones that were sent out for reconnaissance. Her eyes locked on the screens, which showed people moving throughout the rubble and looking for survivors.

"This is Vaduz, Liechtenstein. A Blackwatch team was sent here early yesterday morning. Thirty minutes ago, this building, thought to contain that team, was bombed by Talon." Jack explained as she watched the screens.

"What do you need from me?" She asked breathlessly, tearing her eyes away from the rubble to glance at the blonde man next to her.

"We need a medic. Blackwatch Commander Stefano Bianchi was on that team." Angela turned to the table in the center of the room. It was just as technologically inclined as the wall behind her, and she used it to access her personnel files. She could send Lambert – no, he was in Egypt, she forgot; Daigneau had broken his collarbone in the field last mission and was still out; Remington was with another team; she flipped through her combat medics, but found all of them out in the field, too far away, or out of commission, either through illness, injury, or vacation. She closed her eyes.

"I don't have a medic, Commander." She whispered, the title slipping past her lips to emphasize just how serious her statement was.

"What do you mean, you don't have a medic? There should be _someone_." Jack retorted, coming to stand at her shoulder to look at the files with her.

"Look." She told him, pointing at the names. "These are injured – and only time can heal bones. Those two are on vacation. That section is in the field. Those are available, but they are much too far away to do any good." She reported, the words coming easily as she gave him bad news. Situation didn't change facts. "I hadn't realized there were none left in Zürich." There were plenty of medics, but they were too many hours away from the explosion in their backyard.

"God damnit!" Jack yelled, turning away from the table. Angela flinched and bowed her head, knowing the blame was on her. If she hadn't been so distracted with her research, with going behind their backs, she would have noticed and this entire situation could have been avoided. Still, they needed someone – and there was only one choice.

"I'll go." Angela whispered.

"What was that?" Ana asked from her place near the televisions, where she was monitoring the situation. Angela wasn’t fooled; the sniper had heard her just fine. Still, she would play her game.

"I'll go." She raised her voice, squaring her shoulders against the three in the room. Jack whipped around to stare at her, mouth moving without words.

"Absolutely not. We've already discussed this; you _aren't_ going into the field." Gabriel supplied for him, arms crossed as he glared from across the table. She met his gaze with steely determination.

"Are the three of you going to whip a medic out of the air, then? Did one of you get a medical degree when I wasn’t looking?" She looked between the three of them, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side to hide her growing nervousness. "There is _no one_ left in Zürich. That is due to _my_ carelessness and I will face the consequences of my actions later – but Commander Bianchi doesn't _have_ a later."

"I'm the only option you've got." Her voice trembled slightly, but she clenched her jaw resolutely, hoping they couldn't hear her nerves. She only hoped she was up to the task. She hadn't managed to complete the tools she needed to be more successful, she hadn't convinced them to let her train, but she would have to make due. They had to. There were no other options.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath. Angela watched him, trying to keep her eagerness – and nerves and terror – hidden behind a calm, serene façade developed from years in the medical field. She doubted she was successful.

"Fine, damn you, Angela." He finally said, knowing a decision needed to be made quickly. "You will stay with Gabriel or me at all times, do you understand me?" He rounded on her, pointing one finger at her face. "You _will_ come back in one piece." Jack turned to Ana. "Get her equipped. We leave as soon as she's ready."

"Yes, Jack. Come on, Angela, we need to move." Ana replied, all business. The two women left at a brisk pace, leaving the men to turn to look at the televisions once more.

"Are you not going?" Angela asked the woman when they came to a stop in a room two floors down. It was filled with all kinds of guns and packs. This was clearly the armory, a place that she'd never once needed to set foot in.

"Why wouldn’t I be going?" Ana replied, glancing through the armory and grabbing various items.

"Because Jack told me to stick with him and Gabriel." She replied, watching the woman raid the room. She never asked what their skills were – it didn't matter, since she didn’t pick who went for their skills but for their health – so aside from occasionally spotting them with their guns and helping patch them up, she had no idea what they did.

"Of course he did.” Ana agreed congenially. “I'm a sniper, Angela. I'll be watching over you from afar." Ana smiled reassuringly over her shoulder at the blonde doctor. "Don't worry too much. I'll bring us home safely." Angela smiled back, a little nervously, and nodded.

When she and Ana boarded the helicopter fifteen minutes later, she was overflowing with supplies. Gone was her medical coat and heels; in their place was a blue-and-white medic's uniform. Around her waist was a clever belt that allowed her to hang most of her tools – scalpel, pliers, and the like – and some supplies. At her right hip was also a small pistol that Ana had insisted she take, just in case. Angela doubted she would even figure out how to take the safety off – wait, _was_ there a safety? – but there was no time to argue about it. Instead, it hung heavily at her side and she tried to ignore it. On her back was a pack filled with the rest of her tools – including one of the original healing stream wands repurposed for the battlefield, since the newer ones were for operating room use.

She fumbled with the unfamiliar straps, usually taking a separate direct transport whenever she had to fly, and Ana leaned over to help fasten her in. Angela blushed, embarrassed and feeling like a child, and mumbled her thanks.

They were the last to board, and the helicopter started moving before Ana managed to get herself strapped in. Across from them, Jack and Gabriel were talking in low voices, impossible to decipher over the noise of their transport. There were several other agents on the helicopter, including a man decked out in metal armor of all things. Ana leaned over to Angela so she could be heard.

"We should arrive in thirty minutes; be prepared."


	7. Chaos

They landed in a field near the bombing; there were a lot of fields in the small capitol. Angela was one of the first ones off, stepping off behind Jack with Ana at her back. In her arms were two poles, to go with the fabric in her backpack to make a stretcher. Her body was humming with nerves – she was here, she was doing _this_ , what was she _doing?_ – and she would stick to those men like glue, because her life probably depended on it. The little communication device in her ear sparked to life now that they were on the ground, allowing them to stay in contact even when they spread out.

“We’re a little under a kilometer out,” Jack said, his voice coming from the device as well as before her, “Ana, get into position and let us know what you see.”

“Roger that, Commander.” Ana replied, clapping Angela on the shoulder as she passed. “I’ll be watching over you; try to stay out of trouble.” She reassured, and then she was gone.

Jack called out more orders – most of which she didn’t understand the purpose of, but then again, she wasn’t the one receiving them so she supposed it didn’t matter what she understood – before forcing the group to move out at a fast trot, a pace even she could keep up with. She felt a little exposed, following a step behind the two Commanders at the head of the pack into danger, but there was nothing to be done.

Once they got within a block of their target, Jack held up a fist. Gabriel responded by putting an arm out to make sure she stopped as well, though she knew he was telling them to pause – albeit that knowledge came from stupid movies.

“Ana?” His voice, barely a whisper in front of her, crackled to life in her ear.

“I’m in position. One sniper to the north and there’s movement inside, no telling if it’s friendly.” Angela had wondered why a full team had been assembled for the extraction; surely there was no need once the bomb went off. The other three had explained that, in some cases, the attack was meant to draw out the first responders, before killing them too. They had a plan, and hopefully it would keep them all from getting killed. Jack made a motion with his hand and the rest of the team peeled off, splitting up as directed to approach from two directions. Jack led one of the teams, Gabriel and Angela taking up the rear.

“Ana, take out the sniper.” Jack ordered quietly. Shortly afterwards, Angela flinched as a shot echoed through the air.

“Enemy down.” Ana reported after a long moment.

After that it was chaos. Gabriel kept her back, away from the fighting, guns drawn as he peered out from their cover to keep an eye on the firefight. She hadn’t realized how loud it was, with the gunfire, feet pounding on concrete, and screams from the injured or dying. Angela forced herself to keep her hands away from her ears, watching Gabriel and waiting for him to move her along. This was what she had wanted, even if it wasn’t the way she’d wanted it; she only had one chance to prove she would be of use.

As the combat died down a short while later, with the enemy dead and their men moving inside, Gabriel directed her to follow him out of cover. The came upon one of their own, left behind like rubbish. There was blood down his chest and his eyes were glassy; despite that, when they drew level Angela knelt at his side to see if anything could be done.

“Angela!” Gabriel hissed. She searched for a pulse and found none, closing her eyes briefly before rising to her feet once more. He grabbed her elbow to pull her along. “We don’t have time to stop; our priority is Bianchi.” They didn’t even know where the Blackwatch Commander _was_ , surely they could stop for the wounded?

“I am this strike teams’ medic, not Commander Bianchi’s medic.” She replied, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the chatter of machine guns. If someone could be saved on this mission, she would make it happen.

“Just stay with me, Angela.” Gabriel said eventually, giving her arm a shake before letting go. “Please.”

They entered the building, air thick with dust and debris from the explosion. The line was quiet, with a handful of reports clearing rooms, and the occasional gunshot echoed down the hallway. Angela focused on staying at Gabriel’s back as he picked their path through the first room with guns drawn.

There were dead littered about, as well as one wounded woman that she could do nothing for, not without blood stock Angela didn’t have; she’d landed on exposed rebar and was already nearing death. Though the wounds would be easily handled, the lack of blood would not; she couldn’t even give the woman something to ease her passing, for fear of using up the supplies needed for the living. Pained, Angela let her protector lead her away from the dying woman.

“We’ve found him.” A voice from the comm unit drew her attention, mostly because Gabriel paused and raised a hand – still holding one of those guns – to his ear to activate his microphone.

“Where?” He glanced back at Angela, as if to reassure himself that she was still with him, as if she’d have left his side in this hellhole. Okay, maybe she’d stopped for the bodies, but she hadn’t wandered off like a toddler in a toy store.

“Two floors down, on the left.” The man responded. “You should hurry; it’s really bad.”

\---

Two floors down was harder to find than expected, with random debris blocking normal paths and forcing them to go through holes in the wall. It got worse the further down they went, making it apparent that the bomb had been placed on the lower floors, rather than the upper. Gabriel had put away a gun to help Angela over a pile of wall, since there was no other way down but the stairwell, when Ana’s voice cut in.

“Enemies sighted. I count twelve, converging on the building.” Gabriel’s hand tightened on Angela’s – an involuntary response to the report, probably – and eased her down carefully. Before he could respond, Jack’s voice came to life on the line.

“Reinhardt, your team needs to keep them out of the building.” That order was for the guard the two of them had passed on the way down, protecting their backs.

“On it, Commander! We will hold them here!” A booming voice with a strong German accent responded exuberantly.

“I’m bringing my men up. Reyes, where are you?”

“We’re exiting the stairwell now, heading to Bianchi.” Gabriel reported, leading Angela to the left. Bodies were on the floor, most dead, but Gabriel’s hand firmly clutched her arm and pulled her past before she could determine which – if any – were still breathing. He holstered his other weapon and grabbed her again, pulling her along as he searched for the wayward Commander.

“In here, Commander.” One of their agents stepped out of a room and gestured for them to enter. Gabriel hurried Angela within, turning to the agent that had led them in.

“Guard the stairwell. Don’t let anyone down here.” The man saluted and sprinted off while Angela took in the Blackwatch Commander. She paled and dropped to her knees at the mans’ side like a rock, dropping the poles for the stretcher and ripping her pack off her back.

“Ga- Commander.” Her tongue tripped over the title, so used to using the first name that was inappropriate for the setting. He turned to look at her, and then swore when he saw what she was looking at. Bianchi’s legs were buried under debris, and there was no chance of shifting it without heavy equipment they didn’t possess.

“I might be able to amputate.” Angela offered half-heartedly, searching for the tools for just that. Mercifully, Bianchi was unconscious; she just hoped he’d stay that way. “But we need to get him out of here as soon as I do.” She looked up at him. “I can stabilize him, but he won’t last long.”

Then her attention turned away from him. She vaguely heard him speaking on the channel to Jack, Ana, relaying her words, but she ignored it. All that existed was her and the patient who was in _terrible_ condition. She propped the healing stream up against the debris, aiming it at wounds that it could deal with while she grabbed bandages and sutures to deal with the worst, to stem the bleeding and stabilize his condition until they could get him out.

“ _Angela_.” Gabriel’s voice was right at her ear in a tone that clearly expressed he’d been trying to get her attention. She stilled her hands long enough to glance up at the man, showing she was paying attention, before looking back to Bianchi. “Start amputating. The way will be clear soon.” She nodded resolutely.

“I need twenty minutes, and your hands.” He could hold the healing stream – thank God she brought one – which would help keep the man from bleeding out, while she cut off his legs at the knee. Even with a tourniquet, she didn’t have enough hands or bandages to keep the man alive if not for the technology.

“Angela, I have to guard the door.” He insisted, and she glared up at him briefly.

“Do you want the Commander to live?” She demanded. There was no one else around and she needed a second set of hands – and then some, but she’d take what she could get. “They’ve got it taken care of upstairs. You set a guard for the stairs; you’ll have _plenty_ of time to get your guns if you need them.” Bianchi didn’t have time for this. “Give me your hands.”

“I’m not a doctor, Angela.” She bit back a laugh. Of _course_ he wasn’t a doctor, she wasn’t an idiot. She wouldn’t even be in this mess if he was a doctor.

“I _know_ that. You just need to be able to hold the healing stream and point it – just like with your guns.” Her hands finished the sutures and then set those tools to the side. She grabbed the saw – she hated the saw – and looked up at Gabriel. “Get down here, and if you need to vomit don’t do it on him.” He scowled but crouched next to her. Her hand lifted to the comm unit in her ear.

“Commander Morrison, he’ll be ready in twenty minutes. We’ll need four men to get us out.” She didn’t expect Gabriel to be willing to carry her patient, and she’d need her hands free to make sure he didn’t die on the arduous trip out.

“Roger. Twenty minutes, Dr. Ziegler.”

\---

The next twenty minutes were extremely bloody. Gabriel looked ashen and Angela didn’t blame him – the sound of bone being sawed was absolutely disturbing and make even _her_ teeth clench. Still, she forced herself to cut, because if she didn’t he would surely die. She could replace the limbs with metal in Zürich, but he had to survive to get them. As soon as she got through the first leg, pressing gauze against it to stem the bleeding, she glanced at Gabriel, mildly surprised he hadn’t thrown up in the corner.

“Point the healing stream at his leg, as close as you can without touching. Put pressure on the gauze here.” She ordered. “Let me know when the bleeding slows.” It was bleeding sluggishly due to a tourniquet she’d tied and the stream would cut it down to a minimum.

“Yes, doc.” He replied, but she’d already turned her attention to the other leg. Tourniquet in place, she started to cut.

She was nearly through the second leg when the sound of boots neared their room. Gabriel dropped the healing stream and rose, grabbing his guns to go to the door. Angela forced herself to ignore the potential danger, to finish what she started. She listened to his footsteps approach the door, but he didn’t open it, leaving it closed to surprise the people approaching.

The door swung open and she hunched her shoulders, hands still sawing, waiting for a gunshot. Instead, she was greeted with voices. Since Gabriel hadn’t shot them, she assumed they were friendly.

“Get that stretcher set up.” She ordered over her shoulder as her saw hit the ground – if they were friendly then they could do their jobs. Angela tossed the saw away and grabbed more bandages and the discarded healing stream, directing its healing light onto the leg. “We need to go, now!” Angela heard movement behind her and assumed they were listening to her – they’d _better_ be listening to her.

A scant minute later they were loading the Blackwatch Commander onto the stretcher, then the new men were lifting the stretcher.

“We’re heading towards the transport now.” Gabriel reported. Angela propped the healing stream as best she could next to his leg and let the men shuffle him out the door.

“Got it. We’ll clear a path for you.” Angela and Gabriel followed the men out. They collected the guard at the stairs, making for seven people escorting the Commander – six if you only counted the ones who could actually defend him.

“What about the injured?” She whispered to Gabriel as they passed the lifeless bodies littering the corridor. There surely were some injured in the fight outside, and if there was anyone left that survived the blast from nearly two hours ago they should be saved too. She needed them to be saved. There had been too much death already.

“We’ll do what we can, doc, but the Commander is the priority.” She frowned at him and opened her mouth to argue, but he cut in again, grabbing her arm to stop her and let the other agents get out of earshot. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but what do you want me to do? There’s still enemies out there and you _just_ cut the Commanders’ legs off. We need to go.”

“He had better be worth it, Gabriel.” She shot back hotly and turned to follow the agents without a backwards glance. He caught up with her in a few steps, before pushing to walk ahead of her.

“Don’t forget your orders, doctor.” He reminded softly. “You need to stay behind me. It’s dangerous above.” She huffed, but nodded all the same. The blonde wasn’t an idiot, as much as she felt like it in this new world of guns and danger. She would be safer at his back than leading the way. They made their way up the stairs and, except for the ridiculous amount of swearing it took to get the stretcher over and around the debris, the trek was uneventful.

“We’re coming out.” Gabriel reported once they were just inside the entry. “All clear?” There were guns still firing somewhere out there, and they couldn’t move without confirmation. Their cargo was too valuable to risk.

“The way out is clear. Move quickly.” Ana replied, but Angela could still hear the gunfire. Wasn’t it too close? Shouldn’t they wait?

“You heard her. Let’s get going.” The men burst into movement without hesitation, bolting out the door and down the path. Angela hurried to keep up with them, heart pounding, terrified of being left behind – though at the same time she felt like an idiot because she knew they wouldn’t, _Gabriel_ wouldn’t, leave her here. They were nearly out when:

“Reyes, behind you!” Ana’s voice cut in, urgent with warning. There was no one between herself and Gabriel, so that meant there was someone behind _her_ , someone who was going to hurt them, shoot them. Gabriel turned, eyes wide, and lurched towards her with one hand outstretched, the other reaching for a gun that he’d foolishly left holstered. Time slowed down as she tried to look behind her, but Gabriel’s hand landed on her first and shoved her hard, slamming her hard against a wall. Pain flared and her vision blurred as her eyes watered when her head hit the wall, but it was all forgotten when she heard the gunshots.

He jolted with the impact, and Angela saw crimson spread through his blue-and-white Overwatch uniform in two spots. Her eyes widened as he lifted his gun and fired back before dropping to one knee with a grunt.

“Gabriel!” She darted out from the cover he’d shoved her into as he lost hold of his gun, praying it was safe. Her hand flew up to the comm unit, shaking so badly she could barely press the button. “Gabriel’s been shot.” She reported, voice trembling as she tried to take in the damage, forgetting that she should address him as Commander on a line with so many people. The line went crazy in her ear, but she ignored it. She couldn’t answer their questions and deal with his wounds at the same time. He’d been hit in four places, but due to the way he’d turned she hadn’t seen it originally.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” She murmured, more for herself than for him, cursing that she left the healing stream on the stretcher, that she couldn’t carry the man who was much too heavy, that she was in the position to get shot at in the first damn place. Angela slid the backpack off again, yanking out her quickly dwindling store of bandages and a shot of morphine.

She also slid the gun Ana had given her off, setting it in the dirt beside her. She hoped, if she needed it, she could use it – that she could figure out how to use it because if there was a safety she had no idea how to turn it off, and she desperately hoped Ana wouldn’t give her a gun that didn’t have a safety. There was no one else, with Gabriel down and – she glanced over her shoulder – the other agents gone, carrying off the injured Blackwatch Commander. She looked the other way, towards the man that had shot at them, and didn’t see movement.

“Angela, we need to get out of here.” He groaned, trying to get up, as if he was in any condition to be giving orders. Angela firmly pushed down on his unwounded arm, before supporting him so he didn’t fall on his face. She closed her eyes at a brief bout of vertigo – she must have hit her head harder than she thought, but with the adrenaline pumping and Gabriel bleeding she didn’t have time to assess her head.

“You need to wait. I just – I just need to slow the bleeding down.” She insisted, turning back to her supplies. Surprisingly the man didn’t argue with her, but she attributed that more to the pain he was in rather than her persuasive skills.

Quickly she prepped the morphine needle, before carefully inserting it and depressing the plunger slowly. “You’re going to be alright.” She would make him alright if it killed her – and at this rate it just might. Then she set about trying to slow the bleeding before he died on the ground before her, wrapping the last of her bandages around him as tightly as possible, trying to put enough pressure to slow the blood flowing out of his chest, his back. The radio was still going in her ear, so she ripped it out and let it dangle from her neck so it wouldn’t distract her, even if her life depended on it – which it most probably did.

She’d almost finished when footsteps approached from the way they’d come. Angela dropped the bandages and scrambled to grab her gun with one hand, shoving Gabriel’s at him with the other – not that he would be able to do much. Trembling hands held the gun too close as she slipped between him and the path behind, amateur fingers closing around the trigger without pulling it, as they drew closer. She’d ask Ana who was approaching, why she wasn’t shooting them, but she was too busy clutching the gun in her hands for dear life, too worried that Gabriel might _actually_ _die_ for her – he took a bullet, _four_ bullets, for her, and now someone was coming and there was no one _but her_ left to protect them – to even consider trying.

A person came into view, and before she could realize that they were wearing Overwatch blue-and-white, she pulled the trigger. The gun fired releasing a quick burst of three bullets, surprising all of them, even as she realized that it was just Jack – oh God she’d just shot at _Jack_. Thankfully, she couldn’t aim worth anything and they embedded in the wall and ground harmlessly. She dropped the gun in horror, hands flying up submissively, as three more people followed him around the corner, guns at the ready; they relaxed when they saw the two of them, fortunately because they could have so easily ended them both in reaction to her foolish shots.

“Jack! I’m so sorry, but, but – Gabriel,” she whimpered and turned back to the injured man in question. The bandages were already stained with his blood, and she hastened to finish tightening them.

“It’s fine, Angela, it’s fine.” Jack soothed, moving closer cautiously – as if worried of getting shot again. “We’re gonna get Reyes out of here, alright? Get your things.” She nodded jerkily, then clutched her head against the momentary pain and vertigo. Then she was grabbing everything around her and shoving it haphazardly into her pack – including the gun that nearly shot Jack and one of Gabriel’s guns. While she was packing and sliding it on her back, Jack and one of his men levered Gabriel up and wrapped an arm around his waist as Jack braced him from the side. “Here, carry this.” The blonde Commander passed her his gun as he kept his friend on his feet. She kept her hands away from the trigger, clutching it to her chest with both arms.

“I’m going to be fine, doc.” Gabriel said, his voice rough with pain despite the morphine. “You’ll fix me up, good as new.”

“Shush, don’t talk.” She retorted, but there was no heat in her voice. Her whole body was trembling, and all she could see – over and over in her mind – was Gabriel taking the bullets meant for her. He’d come in shot before, she’d patched him up before, but _seeing_ it happen – God, it was terrible. Why would they willingly go out and do this? He could have _died_ , but he didn’t even hesitate when he pushed her out of the way.

His blood was still on her fingers.

“Angela, stay with us.” Jack’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she found they’d pulled ahead of her. “Focus. We need to go.” She nodded carefully, trying to pull herself together before speeding up to walk just behind Jack, like she was supposed to. One of Jack’s men was at her side, ready to keep her moving should her thoughts wander again. A second walked at Gabriel’s left, just in case. The third took up the rear, ready to defend him.

Why was their transport so far away? Why had they thought that was a good idea, knowing they were going into a combat zone and were bringing back injured? Gabriel was going to bleed out before they even got there! She barely felt the hand on her arm, urging her to keep moving. It was hard to focus on the world around her, not with Gabriel bleeding and her head throbbing in time to her heartbeat.

Footsteps approached, this time from ahead of them. Jack seized his gun from her grasp with his right hand before she even registered it, holding it before him carefully. Angela had no idea how he’d manage to shoot it, with his entire left side holding Gabriel up, but he looked rather determined. The agent at her side stepped before her, gun at the ready, while she took shelter at their Commanders’ backs – praying she wouldn’t see Jack shot too. Fortunately, it was the men she was with before bringing the stretcher back for Gabriel. They loaded the man up and began carrying him away.

“Angela, go with them. The rest of us will be there soon.” Jack ordered her, turning and lifting a hand to his comm, his men falling in around him. “Make sure the doctor stays with you.” He ordered to the men over his shoulder; he had noticed the dazed look of the doctor and didn’t need her left behind.

“Please hurry.” She begged, before turning and stumbling after the stretcher, terrified of being left behind, terrified that if she let Gabriel out of her sight he’d bleed out. The men hustled her and the injured man away, while Jack and his men sprinted in a different direction.

They loaded Gabriel into the helicopter, securing him to the ground towards the front. While they went about that, she checked on the other Commander in her care. His legs were bleeding very slowly; he’d survive as long as they left soon. She took back the healing stream, knowing she’d need it for Gabriel now.

Angela dumped her pack to the ground next to him, finding her scalpel and forceps. One of the shots had passed through, but the other three were still lodged somewhere inside him. They’d probably stopped at bone, due to the awkward angle he’d been shot in. She set the healing stream as close as she could to the singular wound it was good for before cutting into his chest.

She probably _shouldn’t_ be doing this, not with her head pounding and what was probably blood oozing in her hair, but her hands were steady and her vision was – currently – clear. He needed treatment now, so did Bianchi, but all they had was her.

\---

Sometime later – she wasn’t sure how long it was, she’d lost track of time while trying to find the damned bullets – those who were coming back loaded into the helicopter. They tried to make her move, to get her to fasten herself in, but she wasn’t leaving Gabriel bleeding on the floor of this stupid helicopter. He’d taken bullets for her – the least she could do was keep working on him as much as possible.

“You won’t be able to work on him while the helicopter moves; it won’t be steady enough.” Ana reasoned. Angela sighed and quickly wrapped his chest back up, before allowing the older woman to pull her to sit in the seat nearest her patients. The woman sat right next to her, as if worried she’d try something foolish.

Angela’s eyes slid over the rest of the helicopter with bleary eyes – when had it gotten so _dim_ in here? While she’d been pulling a bullet out of her friend, it had filled up – and she hadn’t even noticed. She should have noticed. There were two other gunshot wounds, a graze, as well as what looked like a broken arm. Still, they had less people on the helicopter with them – she couldn’t see Jack at all – and Angela wasn’t sure if they’d been left for dead or if they’d been purposefully left behind to let the wounded escape. Surely they hadn’t left Jack for dead, so it must have been purposeful.

“I need to talk to Gloria, get her to prep the operating rooms.” Angela told the woman at her side. Ana nodded in agreement, pushing a lock of hair behind one ear. Angela leaned her head back, then winced and jolted forward – and immediately regretted the motion as vertigo and nausea overwhelmed her.

“Are you alright?” Ana asked, concerned, as Angela lifted her hands to assess the damage to her head – there was nothing else for her to do while the helicopter took off. Her fingers came back red and sticky. “What happened to you?”

“Gabriel pushed me into a wall.” Angela replied, her reply coming out more dazed than snarky. She stared at her fingers for far too long before looking to Ana. “I don’t have any bandages left.” Ana clicked her tongue.

“We’ll have to steal that technology of yours and fix you up.” Ana told her, unclipping herself to grab it.

“Don’t!” Angela begged, but Ana ignored her to grab the tool and slid back into her seat next to the doctor.

“He’ll be fine, and _you_ need a clear head.” Ana told her, looking down at the machine in her hands. “Now, show me how to use this.”

Angela showed Ana the buttons and where to point it – it really was rather simple – then leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees with her eyes closed in an effort to keep from being sick. She winced as Ana moved her hair aside to get a look at the cut and bruising, but otherwise stayed still. Compared to everyone else, this was nothing – she should be using the healing stream on the others, not on a superficial cut like hers.

“You’re all patched up,” Ana said a few minutes later. Angela sat up, blinking and glancing around. The space looked a bit brighter, and she could focus her thoughts better. Apparently she’d had a mild concussion, which explained her woolgathering. She looked over to Gabriel guiltily; had she really been trying to get bullets out of him in her condition? She was a terrible doctor.

Still, she couldn’t relax, no matter how guilty she felt. Ana put the healing stream in her hands and got up to get her a headset and Angela was up, looking Gabriel over, ensuring she hadn’t done any lasting damage to his body. She slid the healing stream back in place before walking to look at the other injuries, bracing her hand on the overhead rail so she didn’t fall into someone’s’ lap – wouldn’t _that_ be a great way to end this mission?

One was shot in the arm and appeared to pass through cleanly, but the other had gone through the abdomen – and she’d already learned her lesson from Naples. They’d been haphazardly bandaged with whatever cloth they could find, but she’d need to get them better cared for shortly. She’d queried them for their blood types – one was A+ and one was O+. First, she had a call to make.

“This is Dr. Ziegler. I need Dr. Freeman, now.” As soon as the line had been answered, Angela started giving orders. The man on the other side stammered something and set the phone down, searching for the required doctor, as Angela leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes to focus on the task at hand.

“Dr. Freeman speaking.” A familiar voice filled the line.

“Gloria, prep OR 1 for a double amputee; I removed his legs in the field and he’s lost a lot of blood. Stock it with O-, I have no idea what his blood type is. He is in critical condition, surname Bianchi. I will need metal transplants for his legs as soon as possible, so put an order in.” Angela ordered, waiting patiently while the woman wrote it down. “OR 2 needs to be prepped for four gunshot wounds to the chest, blood type B+. He is also in critical condition, surname Reyes.” Angela closed her eyes briefly against the statement as Gloria inhaled sharply, before glancing back over towards the other two.

“OR 3, gunshot wound to the abdomen, blood type O+. He is in urgent condition, surname Gonzales. OR 4, gunshot to the arm, blood type A+. He is stable, surname Lewis. I also have a graze and a broken arm for the infirmary to deal with.” Angela rattled off her instructions. “We will be landing in approximately twenty minutes.”

“We will be ready, doctor.” The line went dead, and Angela pulled the headset away and handed it to Ana, sliding to the ground next to Gabriel to check his bandages.

\---

As much as she ached to make Gabriel her priority, she forced herself to walk into OR 1 and leave him to Gloria. She knew that most of the work on Bianchi was done – they just needed to stitch up the mans’ legs and then she could dash over to OR 2 – but that didn’t make it chafe any less. Then she remembered they had the new-and-improved healing stream installed in the OR, allowing her to heal his wounds quickly under her critical eye. Once his vitals stabilized, with a steady blood flow in and no more blood flowing out, she left the OR team with strict instructions to put him under guard in private room one – and then to summon Captain Amari, wherever _she_ was – to deal with him.

Gabriel’s operation wasn’t nearly as quick. He was still losing a lot of blood due to the gaping holes in his body. They wheeled him over to OR 1, which was the only room with the newest healing stream, and she focused the technology on the man on her table, before pausing. She had no idea how large the bullets that were embedded in him were; she wouldn’t know if they were small enough to be pushed out until they came out. If they were too big, the newer tech would just leave them there and heal over them, leaving the metal to fester and cut.

If only she’d taken the time to grab a shell casing from where he was shot, or if she’d kept the bullet she’d managed to pull out on the helicopter instead of tossing it away to get lost. Still, there was no time for regretting her actions, and she shoved the stream away. She couldn’t even focus it on the wounds that were without bullets; the tool would heal all wounds, rather than singular ones.

“We need to get the bullets out.” She announced to the room, grabbing a scalpel and beginning her search, her operating team moving into action around her.

Before she’d managed to find the first bullet, he stopped breathing. CPR didn’t work – all it did was cause him to bleed more – and they were forced to intubate him so that he could get much needed oxygen. Angela abandoned the search for bullets to Gloria, instead turning to figure out why he wasn’t breathing. Sometimes it was from the trauma, but in other cases there was something wrong with the airway. In his case, his right lung had been punctured by a bullet that had entered through his side.

Almost two hours after they intubated Gabriel, and after a shock to the chest when his heart started beating out of control, they got him stable and turned the healing stream on him. It would be slow going, considering the sheer amount of trauma inflicted, and she couldn’t interfere without making it worse. Instead, she directed the rest of her staff out – she could monitor it alone and call for anything she needed. No need for all of them to stand around doing nothing.

It was wrong of her to stay when there were patients to see, to fix, when someone else could monitor him just as easily, but she just could not force herself to let him out of her sight until the bloody holes were fixed. She was too frazzled to be of use elsewhere, and would be until he stopped bleeding from wounds meant for her.

She needed something to do with her hands, or she’d grab a needle and start suturing unnecessarily, so she grabbed a notepad and started writing. She wrote about the changes necessary to her technology – concerning bullets, focusing wounds, speed, anything that she thought could and should be changed. Every few minutes she’d look up and reassess Gabriel’s broken body on the operating table, bathed in yellow light and sluggishly bleeding.

It took forty-five minutes – and every single one of them was agonizing. But once the wounds were healed, his blood pressure stabilized, and his breathing evened, she felt like she could function again. She ordered a nurse back into the OR, to put him into private room two under guard – and strict instruction that he wasn’t to move until she could reassess him. His healed flesh would still be tender and he needed to rest while his body adjusted.

Then she moved Gonzales to OR 1. Her surgeons had done a great job in keeping him stable, and his wounds were healed by the technology in just under thirty minutes. The complexity of the injury – the intestine had been perforated – caused the nanobots to have to work on many more levels, to avoid sepsis and keep infection at bay while also healing the ravaged flesh, taking just as long as several bullets – but the sutures her staff had performed made it move that much faster.

Finally, she checked up on OR 4, but by the time she had reached them they had used the hand-held healing stream to patch him up. It was nearing ten in the evening – still early, considering the way she worked – but she felt absolutely drained. Still, she had to walk the infirmary, to make sure the other two were fine, to ensure everything was running smoothly. That was her duty.

Once she’d passed the reins over to Gloria – ostensibly so she could get some food and check on Bianchi and Gabriel – she headed for private room one. She’d make sure he was comfortable and properly guarded, then she’d look in on Gabriel.

The guards here gave her no trouble, unlike the ones in Naples; it was a fortunate perk for working in her home territory. The man was still unconscious, which was unsurprising. He’d probably sleep for several more hours – it was one of the side effects of her nanotechnology, but the perks were absolutely worth it, in her opinion. After assuring he was fine, she moved on to Gabriel’s room.

She found Jack inside, and it was just like in Naples – only with the roles reversed. She hadn’t realized he was back. Fortunately, he didn’t pull a gun on her, though it would have been fair, given that she’d shot at him first.

“Jack.” She breathed, looking him over as he rose to greet her. “You’re alright, aren’t you? I didn’t hurt you?” Now that she was able to _focus_ , now that she was looking at someone other than Gabriel, she felt the guilt flow over her. She could have hurt him – killed him. Jack gave her a wry grin.

“Angela, your aim is _terrible_. I’m fine.” She huffed and crossed her arms, attempting to look displeased but nothing could mask the sheer relief in her eyes. He was _fine_.

“Excuse _me_ for worrying.” She retorted, wanting to sound sarcastic but failing. Angela dropped her arms back to her side after a moment – even she could tell that she was doing a terrible job at acting. “I’m glad I didn’t shoot you.” Angela admitted.

“Well, so am I. Funny how that works.” Jack replied, and she laughed like he’d meant her to. It was a short laugh, but it was needed after the day she had. They fell silent – the only sound in the room coming from the EKG machine – as she turned to look at the elephant in the room. Carefully, as if she might wake him, she approached his bed to check his chart.

“He’ll be fine.” She told him quietly, breaking the silence. “He’ll be a little tired, and a little sore, but he’ll be fine. They’ll _all_ be fine.” She carefully didn’t mention the troubles the man before them had faced on her table. Jack didn’t need the extra stress right now. Angela looked back towards the blonde Commander instead. “You should get some rest, Jack. You look terrible.” It was his turn to bark out a laugh.

“You’re one to talk, Angela.” He retorted. She smiled wryly back.

“Yes, but I’m used to it.” She ushered him to the door. “With Bianchi out of commission, you’re going to be a _very_ busy man. I’ll watch over Gabriel.” Angela opened the door, pointing towards the exit. “Go get some sleep, Commander.” The title was more for the guards in the hall, but he raised an eyebrow at her. “We’ll be _fine_. Look at all the bodyguards we have.” She gestured at the hall, filled with four agents at attention. “The door locks, too, if that makes you feel any better.”

Jack just sighed and rolled his eyes at the woman.

“You’ve made your point, doctor. I’ll get some rest.” She smiled up at him.

“Good. Sleep well. I’ll give you an update in the morning.” He nodded and made his way towards the elevators. She nodded respectfully towards the guards, before reentering her friends’ room.

She sat in the seat closest to his bed and reassured herself he was alive by watching him breathe.


	8. Determination

She wonders if it’s fortune or bad luck that her dream isn’t about surgery. It happens so rarely that she’d given up hoping for anything else. Something light, fun – innocent, even, compared to the nightmares she suffers – but rarely receiving any respite. But this time, she’s outside. The wind is in her face and the sun is shining. Gabriel is in front of her, he’s looking ahead at something she can’t quite see. She leans around him, trying to see what’s up ahead.

And then he gets shot.

Suddenly the air turns to molasses, and she’s fighting, trying to get to his side. She has to put him back together, there’s no one else, but she can’t reach him. Why is she moving so slow, why is he bleeding out so quickly? _I need to save him!_ Just before his eyes turn glassy and his skin pales, the air turns to normal she can kneel next to him, hands useless in the face of so much blood.

“I can fix this,” she hears herself saying, even in the face of his slowing heart, “stay with me, Gabriel. I can fix this!” But it’s too late, his breathing stops, and he’s gone. She’s at his side, his body cooling under her fingers. Footsteps echo behind her and she grabs the gun. She turns, blindly pointing the gun, finger squeezing the trigger.

“ _No_ ,” she breathes, and time slows all over again. Jack falls to his knees, clutching his chest. He’s reaching out to her in desperation, one hand extended and bloody, the other trying to stop the bleeding. She manages two steps before she’s trapped standing between the two men – one dead, one dying. _I’m so sorry._ She’s trying, but her legs won’t move, her mouth won’t work, and he’s _begging_ her for help, but she watches him as he bleeds out in front of her. Her friends, bloody, broken, and _dead_ around her, and there is nothing she can do. _I did this. This is my fault._

Rewind, she’s kneeling at Gabriel’s side again. He’s bleeding, but she’s got the bandages, he’ll make it. She just has to patch him up long enough to get him to the helicopter, to get to the OR, and she can fix this. He’ll be fine. _I can fix this._ She stops the bleeding, the wounds are covered – it’s not the best fix, but he’ll make it. Then he starts bleeding again, where did that hole come from? She rushes to stop the bleeding, but as soon as it’s stopped, a new hole appears. She’s running out of bandages, but she can’t stop – until his heart does.

She’s standing behind him, she knows what’s coming, tries to stop it, but he falls to his knees again, bleeding. _Not again_.

\---

“ _Angela_.” A hand on her shoulder roughly jarred her awake.

Her eyes open and she found herself slumped over in a chair, head pillowed in arms braced against something soft. Her face is wet, which is unsurprising. She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but, apparently, she’d decided not to go back to her room last night, if the voice above her and the steady beep of an EKG machine were any indication. Angela went very still, closing her eyes again. They both knew she had been having another nightmare, that the only reason he’d wake her was if she were actively in danger or crying out again – and there wasn’t anything here that would endanger her.

“Gabriel?” She mumbles softly, disoriented, the dreams of his death too recent for her to handle. “This isn’t a dream?” Her voice is small and broken, but she can’t help the words before they escape her. She can’t face another one, she can’t sit up to find him bleeding again and be forced to put pieces that don’t fit back together until he’s dead.

“It’s not a dream.” He confirms, and she can feel him shifting, hesitating briefly, before a hand rests carefully on her head, stroking her hair once. “You’re awake.” She briefly considered keeping her head exactly where it was, but knew that was the wrong answer – she was an adult and, whether this was a dream or not, she would deal with it, just like she did every morning. This time, she just had to deal with it a little sooner – and with an audience.

Angela pushed herself up, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she did, so she could look at Gabriel. He was in perfect health, exactly as he was when she fell asleep, and she sighed in relief after a long appraising look. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly self-conscious. She knew she must look a mess, with rumpled, blood-stained clothes and blood still in her sleep-tangled hair, and here she was disturbing his much-needed rest with her stupid nightmares.

“Sorry I woke you, Gabriel.” She sighs, staring down at her hands guiltily.

“I’d say don’t worry about it, but we both know you will.” He told her kindly. It wasn’t untrue – she worried about a lot of things – but it still made her frown a little all the same. “Want to talk about it?” He offered, like he always did – as if he _hadn’t_ just gotten shot and he _wasn’t_ laying in an infirmary bed, strapped to machines dedicated to make sure he was still among the living. She closed her eyes again, listening to the machine and his breathing again, letting it tether her to reality as she considered whether she wanted to talk or not.

“Angela?” He prompted after the silence became unbearable.

“I dreamed of you.” She muttered, unthinking. The EKG betrayed Gabriel’s shock, and then she turned scarlet, realizing what her words may have mistakenly implied. “I-I mean, not like _that_ , but, you,” her tongue was tripping over itself as she tried to clear up any misunderstanding, to make this any _less_ awkward, “you were getting shot – and dying. _Again_.” The words killed whatever humor – or embarrassment – may have been in the room.

“Like Jack?” He asked, his tone carefully neutral. She knew what he was really asking – did she feel guilty that others died for him to live?

“No. Not like Jack.” She whispered through numb lips. While she did feel guilt for those that were left behind, she knew that wasn’t why he featured in her dreams, not really. “You nearly died on my table – _twice_.” Her voice, her hands, her _everything_ , was trembling. “You were shot – you took bullets meant for _me_.” That was the fuel behind the dreams; she’d never witnessed such violence – towards her or another – and it had shaken her to her core. She glanced towards him to find him watching her carefully. “ _Why?_ ” Her voice broke on the word. _He could have died_.

“If those bullets had hit you, you _would_ have died.” He told her, after a long moment of silence. “You’re, what, six – seven inches shorter than me?” She rolled her eyes at his use of American measurements but got the idea. “He was aiming for your head, and you _would_ have died.” Her eyes widened – she hadn’t even _realized_. He’d saved her from death, and she hadn’t even realized how close it had been. “But, even if he’d been aiming for your leg, Angela,” he continued, his voice low and eyes fierce, “I wouldn’t have let him shoot you.”

And she knew that, even as it made her heart pound and hurt at the same time. She knew that none of them – but most especially Gabriel – would ever let her get hurt, not if they could do anything about it. They would wrap her in cotton, keep her safe, and take _bullets_ if it meant she would be kept safe – because she was their precious doctor that should be kept secreted away in an infirmary or a lab. She loved them for their care and concern, even as she chafed under it, even as she hated being forced to continuously put them back together again.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She murmured quietly. “You’re always looking out for me.” Which was also true. He’d been the one that convinced her to give Overwatch a shot. He’d been the one to get the others to make sure she took care of herself, the one to offer her a safe place to vent if she ever needed one, the one to take an actual, _literal_ bullet for her.

“Somebody has to.” He replied dryly, and she laughed despite herself.

“Why?” She asked carefully, once the remnants of her laughter faded. He looked over at her. “Not that I’m complaining – right _now_ , anyway – but why? And why _you_?”

“Because I can?” He offered, teasing. She just fixed him with a _look_ and he sighed. His face turned serious once more as he turned his gaze to the far wall.

“Because I wanted to.” He finally said. “I have Jack, and Jack has Ana, and we _both_ know Ana doesn’t need anyone at her back.” He grinned at her. “But you? You were the new girl with the exceptional résumé and a dislike for violence. You’d already butted heads with Jack – so fierce and stubborn, the both of you – and you’d never even met Ana, but you needed someone, even if you didn’t realize it.” Gabriel shrugged. “So, I made that person me. And that’s all there is to it.”

Angela was pretty sure that _wasn’t_ all there was to it, but at that moment the door behind her opened. She glanced behind her to find Jack and Ana entering the room.

“Hope we’re not interrupting.” Ana said blithely, pushing Jack into the room and closing the door. “We were coming to check on you, Gabe, and get a report from Angela. What a happy coincidence that you’re both together.” She continued cheerily – and despite the fact that they had just been talking, that there was _no reason_ to feel embarrassed, Ana’s words made Angela blush. No one made any comment, and she collected herself to give a report of everything that had happened medically in the last twenty-four hours.

\---

“ _Wait_.” Gabriel cut in, interrupting her. She glanced over to look at him with one eyebrow raised but paused obligingly. “You had your tools in my body – in my _chest_ – while you had a _concussion_?” Well, when he put it that way, it _did_ sound rather careless, didn’t it? Still, she waved a hand in the air.

“You’re fine. You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” Angela retorted. “I’ve pulled bullets out of you – out of the _three_ of you – enough times to do it blindfolded.” Okay, so maybe that was a _slight_ exaggeration. “A concussion – and it wasn’t even a _bad_ one, really – is nothing.” As she finished, Ana grinned conspiratorially towards Jack, before glancing back over to Gabriel.

“Ana had to practically drag her away, concussion and all.” The blonde Commander told him, before laughing at the indignant, sputtering doctor. He wasn’t even there! Angela huffed, knowing they were just teasing, and crossed her arms.

“She was _very_ protective of you, Gabe.” Ana teased, and Angela’s colored, not expecting Ana to join in. Before she could form a coherent sentence to defend herself, Gabriel spoke.

“Is that so?” Gabriel replied, raising one eyebrow at the woman. She groaned – she never knew that having friends could suck sometimes.

“You just got shot _for_ me. Excuse _me_ for being _worried_.” Angela shot back, finally finding her voice. She glared at all of them, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the redness of her face. “I’ll remember this, all of you, next time you’re bleeding out in front of me.” She threatened, but all of them knew she didn’t mean it.

After a few more light-hearted jabs, the three let Angela finish her report.

\---

After her report, Angela examined Gabriel and discharged him before looking in on the Blackwatch Commander. She’d been warned before going in that he was a rather grumpy man – but she responded that it was probably just because he suddenly had no legs. After a rough encounter, with him complaining about anything and everything – his legs were gone, his side hurt, he was getting behind in his work – she left the infirmary for much needed food, but then she was back.

A week later, Bianchi’s biotic legs were delivered to her infirmary. During that time, she kept the man comfortable and worked on her prototypes, needing them to be _perfect_ before she brought them to her friends’ attention. She hadn’t pursued their long-standing argument over her serving in the field – even _after_ actually going – because she needed them to be done first. She knew the others were waiting for her to pounce, because they knew by now that she wasn’t one to let something drop – not that easily, anyway.

So, she took a break from the research to give the grumpy Commander his legs back. The procedure went smoothly, and it wasn’t long before he was in his room again on medication to help his body adjust to the hardware that now made up his legs. He’d have to go through physical therapy and see a psychologist, but she had him slated for a full recovery.

Another week later saw the Commander out the door on his two new legs – and everyone in the infirmary breathed a sigh of relief. He had been cleared to return to the Blackwatch base, but was ordered to continue his sessions with the therapist and psychologist there. It was around this same time that Angela asked to meet with her three friends; her prototypes were ready to be unveiled. She carried two items into the meeting with her – one was a specialized staff and the other was body armor, tailored to fit her.

“As the three of you know, I’ve been working on making the newest healing stream usable on the battlefield; the only active one is currently here in the Zürich base, due to financial strain.” A memory of budget meetings from before Overwatch flashed through her mind. She rested a hand on the staff, which was sitting before her on the table. “I call this the Caduceus Staff.” Angela rose, lifting it into her hands.

Angela was animated as she explained the pros and cons to her newest invention, and the others looked suitably impressed. She could tell that they were already planning for its use on the field. It had a limited lifetime before needing to recharge, and there was a range limiter of ten feet, but it would be a gamechanger for their wounded. Once they had exhausted their questions for the staff in her hands, Jack turned to look at the armor on the table.

“And what about that?” Angela nodded and set the staff down, lifting the armor instead for them to look at.

“I call this the Valkyrie Suit.” She turned it slowly so they could view all sides – including the rather large wings on the back.

“What’s with the wings, doc?” Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’ll get to those in a moment.” Instead, she explained how the reinforced plating worked, protecting vital organs and the spine, as well as portions of the legs. She continued on to describe the nanotechnology within it, which, while it couldn’t heal – not _yet_ , but she was hopeful for the future – would numb wounds so that a medic could continue their job if necessary.

“And the wings?” Gabriel prompted again, once she’d explained all the perks of the armor itself. “Are they just for show, or do they _do_ something?” She blushed; as if she’d include something so ostentatious for no reason!

“They allow the wearer to float in air using nanotechnology, as if they had a parachute – so if they have to drop long distances they can do so safely.” She pulled gently on one of the wing tips to make it extend. “They can also be used to “jump” towards anyone with an Overwatch communicator – including agents above them.” Angela slid her medical coat off and carefully pulled the armor on as she spoke.

“I assume you have your communicator, right, Gabriel?” She asked, turning to look at him as she secured the armor to her body before lifting a halo-shaped headpiece and fastening it into place.

“Wait, why do _I_ have to be the guinea pig?” He demanded, rising even as he complained. “Also, you look ridiculous. What’s with the halo?” He grinned at her, moving away from the table and her. “Think you’re some kind of angel?” He teased.

“Well, you _were_ the one with all the questions.” She reached up to touch the halo self-consciously, but ignored the jabs. “Simply put, it determines which agent you want to fly to, then relays the direction to the wings, which then allows me to jump to you instead of Ana or Jack.” She glanced between the three of them. “It’s also used to initiate the jump, as well as floating safely – but to explain the process would take much more time than we have.”

“Are you ready?” She shifted her weight, focusing on Gabriel – she had to demonstrate this well so that she could segue into getting herself back onto the battlefield.

“Whenever you are, doc.” Gabriel told her, standing opposite her on the other side of the room. A moment passed before the suit propelled her forwards – with a little more force than necessary. She slammed into Gabriel with considerable force instead of stopping just before him, causing him to stagger back a step and wrap an arm around her to keep her steady.

“ _Scheisse_ ,” she muttered, “sorry, Gabriel. Looks like the acceleration needs tweaking still.” She’d hoped for a more _graceful_ demonstration, but she’d have to take what she’d get. Carefully, Angela shifted backwards and out of Gabriel’s personal space, and he released his steadying hold after a moment of resistance. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Of course, Angela.” She moved to the side before turning so that she wouldn’t smack Gabriel with the wings.

“Aside from the acceleration being, well, _off_ , it’s expected to allow a medic to jump to a person with ease, either to avoid danger or reach an injured agent.” She walked back towards the table, Gabriel a step behind; she could jump again, but she didn’t fancy slamming into anyone else today.

“These are the only two projects I have to show you, but you have to agree that they’re impressive.” Angela said, taking a seat without stripping off the armor, leaning forward slightly so the wings wouldn’t catch on the back of the chair.

“You’ve done a good job, Angela.” Ana praised, smiling at her from across the table. Angela smiled back, taking pride in her work – even as she dreaded the argument she knew would come next.

“However, there is one last thing.” Angela told the three, glancing between them carefully. “I would like to request, once again, to be cleared for mission training.”

“Angela, for the _last time_ , you are not going on missions.” Jack told her thunderously, the mood changing immediately. She winced, but glared back just as fiercely.

“I helped extract Bianchi with no problem!” She shot back defiantly. She’d thought she had proved _something_ that day. All of their arguments had been unfounded – she’d kept up, she took care of the wounded while wounded _herself_ , and she’d even shot a gun in (unnecessary) self-defense.

“Do I need to remind you that I got _shot_ for you on that mission?” Gabriel asked from her right, and she shook her head. He said that as if she’d shoved him before her, rather than him slamming her into a wall.

“I don’t need _any_ reminding, thank you.” She replied darkly, and he had the good sense to glance away sheepishly. “With training – that _all_ of you denied me – that situation might have been completely avoided!” She crossed her arms; she was getting cleared or she was getting fired, but she wasn’t leaving this room until one or the other happened. “Besides, who _cares_ if I get shot – the three of you get shot all the time, and you _run_ this stupid organization!” Angela threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Angela, darling, we only want to keep you safe.” Ana said gently, trying to bring the doctors’ temper back down. “You’ve seen how it is, how things can change quickly. We don’t want that for you.” Angela nodded.

“That’s why I’ve made the Valkyrie suit.” She looked around at the three. “You all just agreed that it was a great idea, an amazing tool for the battlefield; I want to use it.” She sucked in a breath. “I need to be out there, with the rest of you. I _need_ to help, so that we can keep our agents – or even innocents caught in the middle – from dying senselessly. _Please_. Let me at least go through training.”

The three looked at each other, considering and weighing Angela’s words.

“Training can’t hurt.” Ana said eventually. “We’re _not_ agreeing to clear you for combat, but if another Bianchi situation happens again, it would be good for you to be trained.” Angela nodded, a relieved smile crossing her face.

“I can work with that.”

\---

Training took more of her time, but she reorganized her schedule to make it work. She already had many of the skills necessary – managing infirmaries across the entire globe really taught prioritization under pressure, especially when she did as much as possible in person. Combat, however, was a completely different story.

She was an atrocious shot. Out of ten shots, she’d be lucky if two hit the target – and even then, she was likely to hit the edge rather than anywhere near the actual target zones. She was ordered to spend as much of her free time – like she _had_ free time – in the shooting range to increase her accuracy. Angela was put into combat simulation after combat simulation, with radio barking in her ear and fake wounds to treat, and there was always something she did wrong, always something to improve upon.

She buried herself in the training, determined to prove that she was worthy of going into the field with the others. Academics were something she had always thrived in – and while this was, admittedly, a different _kind_ of learning, academics were academics.

Two months passed, during which time her researchers finished their tasks. They had a portable healing stream with a limited life – but it would heal anyone within fifteen feet. It still couldn’t heal anyone with debris in them, but they were still better than nothing. They were relatively cost effective, so they began seeing active use, unlike tools like the Valkyrie suit – which she worked on whenever she had a moment – that were too expensive. Agent mortality was going down, and she couldn’t be happier. She directed a team to work on increasing the effectiveness of their agents – boost their speed, their reflexes, their abilities – to make them better. Her second team she directed towards other combat medicine.

She could hit the target every time – though she was still just as likely to hit the edges than she was the center. But her medical skills more than made up for her lack of shooting ability, and when she trained with her Valkyrie suit she was unparalleled, no matter the situation – as long as weapons accuracy wasn’t considered.

Angela stood, hands on hips, in the command center before her three superiors.

“Well?” She demanded. They’d made her stick with it for three weeks longer than any other combat medic – she’d checked. While her fighting prowess wasn’t up to par, she more than made up for it with the agility of the suit and her medical abilities. She wasn’t going into the field to fight, anyway – the whole point was to heal, not damage. Angela kept her eyes on Jack – he was the one who would decide, regardless of what the others thought – even as she felt Gabriel’s glare burning holes into her head.

“You’re cleared, Angela.” Jack said finally, sounding defeated. Angela relaxed, her hands dropping as she smiled, pleased to have _finally_ gotten through, _finally_ gotten their approval. “You will _only_ go on missions with one of us, do you understand? Your shooting is terrible, and I don’t trust anyone else to keep you in one piece – not even yourself.” Angela didn’t care what stipulations he put on her, as long as he let her go with them to help people.

“As you say, Commander.” Angela replied, saluting him with a grateful smile. He rolled his eyes and waved her off.

“Now that you’re done _pestering_ us,” Jack continued, and she blushed, “we have work to do; if you’ll excuse us, Angela.” The blonde doctor nodded and let herself out as they turned back to the table.

\---

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” Angela hadn’t turned when her office door had opened; exactly three people would enter without knocking – and she had a good idea who would be visiting today. Instead, she kept writing her lists, which helped her keep focused and properly channel her innovative genius. It would only be a matter of time before her teams needed new direction, and she had to be there to guide them.

“Of course I am, Gabriel.” The doctor replied cheerily. When her words were greeted with a long silence, she sighed and spun her chair around to face him, pen in hand. As expected, he was glaring _again_. “If you’re going to lecture me, you might as well have a seat.” She offered, gesturing to the seat to his right. He huffed out a breath and sat.

“I don’t want to lecture you, Angela.” He told her tiredly. She smiled kindly at him.

“Then what _do_ you want, Gabriel?” She glanced up at the clock to see it was one forty in the morning. “Seeing how you aren’t dragging me up to my room and it’s nearly two, you must be here for _something_.”

“Won’t you reconsider fieldwork?” He asked softly. She knew that they all opposed her going out – Gabriel being the most vocal – but Jack was willing to uses his assets, and she was _definitely_ an asset. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – force her, but she was all too willing to jump into the fray with them.

“You know I can’t.” Angela told him gently. “I don’t want to be protected; I want to save people, and that’s what Overwatch does.” So many agents, so many innocents, were left behind in the danger zones that terrorists like Talon and Null Sector created, and she – with her technology – might be able to make a difference in the field.

“You can’t save everyone, Angela!” He snapped, leaning across the desk. “You’re going into the field and you’re _going_ to get hurt – and who will put _you_ back together?” He demanded, and under his fury she could see actual fear and worry. It was the same drive that had put him between her and a gunman, the same drive that was forcing her to go into the field.

“There are plenty of doctors, Gabriel.” Angela reminded him gently. “Many of them were here long before I was.” She’d only been here for, what, nine or ten months? They were acting like she was the _only_ doctor – _only_ researcher – that Overwatch possessed. “I’m sure _one_ of them is up to the task of patching me up.” She told him dryly.

“And if they can’t put you back together?” He asked, and though his words were quiet the words rang in her ears as if he’d shouted. He was right, of course – she could get killed out there; heavens knew she’d read plenty of KIA reports, some belonging to her medics. She _knew_ that, objectively. Angela shook her head; she couldn’t think about it, couldn’t consider that she was rushing to her death.

“I am taking every precaution, Gabriel.” Angela said firmly, skirting the question. “Just like you.” Angela fixed him with a pointed look. “Or would you rather I ask _you_ to remain behind, for fear that you won’t come home?” His fists clenched.

“It’s different, Angela.” She made a harsh, disbelieving sound.

“How is it possibly different? Because I am _so_ fragile compared to you? A woman?” Her arms were crossed and her eyes were glaring daggers, and he sighed and ran a hand over his head, glancing away.

“That’s _not_ what I meant, and you know it.” He retorted, but there was less heat. “I’ve been doing this a long time – _too_ long. I’m a soldier. I know when to push forward and fall back. But you,” he met her scathing look, “you’re a doctor, a healer. You won’t fall back, not if there’s wounded that you _might_ be able to save. And I might not be there next time to save you.” His words, his eyes, were bleak. “Your heart is too gentle – too kind – to be on a battlefield.”

Angela worried her lip. He wasn’t wrong, not really. If it hadn’t been for his hand on her elbow, she would have stopped many times on the Bianchi extraction. If it hadn’t been for the concussion, she’d have fought harder to collect more wounded instead of fixating on the ones in her care. It was one thing to be part of training simulations, where the wounds weren’t real and everyone went to their beds at the end of the day, and another thing to be on a mission where her choices could mean actual life and death – for not only her patients but those around her, and even herself.

That didn’t mean that she’d stay behind though.

“I will go where I am needed.” Angela told him firmly. “It is my duty.” Gabriel laughed, a mirthless sound.

“Plenty of soldiers with _duty_ died in the Omnic Crisis, Angela.” He was on his feet, as if he couldn’t deliver the words sitting down. “ _Duty_ won’t save you. Duty will get you _killed!_ ” He pointed at her from across the desk, emphasizing his point. “You _will_ get hurt, Angela, if you do this.” His eyes, stormy with emotion, were a stark contrast to his harsh words. “ _Please_ don’t do this.”

“I cannot hide, Gabriel – no more than you can.” There was nothing else for her to say. She would go, and no amount of begging would stop her. Her words seemed to take the fight out of him, and he slumped back into the chair he’d recently vacated, one hand covering his face. The silence grew, strained and thick, but she didn’t know how to break it; she couldn’t give him what he wanted, so instead she sat, waiting for him to break first.

“All that will come of this, Angela,” his voice was quiet, muffled, “is heartbreak and nightmares.”

“I know, Gabriel.” And she did. But her life was already heartbreak and nightmares. Every time she had to read a KIA report, every time a patient bled out under her hands, she felt that pain. A battlefield would be no different. At least she could feel like she was trying, making a difference. It might ease the nightmares – but she doubted it.

“Will you walk me back?” She asked when the silence grew to be too much. It was her best attempt at a peace offering, though even she knew it wasn’t a good one. He nodded and rose, with her quickly following suit, and they left the small office filled with too much emotion.

“Everything will be alright.” Angela murmured as the doors slid open, allowing them entry. It wasn’t until the car was moving, with her in her usual spot with her back against the right wall and him with his shoulder to the left, that he spoke.

“If you’re serious about this,” he began.

“I _am_.” She insisted, and he silenced her with a look.

“If you’re serious about this,” he repeated, “will you at least let me watch your back?” Angela blinked, startled, and then smiled tentatively.

“I can’t think of anyone else for the job.” She whispered into the silence. She had just assumed he would be there, and the thought that – if he hadn’t asked – he might have stayed behind was disconcerting.

“Not even Jack?” He challenged, the words heavy.

“Jack didn’t take a bullet for me.” She retorted, arms crossed. “But even then – no, not even Jack.”

“What about Ana?” The words were teasing now, and she considered the sharpshooter.

“Well, she _is_ a better shot that you.” She decided as the doors reopened. “But no.” Angela stepped out, glancing over one shoulder at the man. “If I had to pick someone to watch out for me, I’d pick you.”


	9. Bullets

About a month and a half had passed since she’d finally – _finally –_ gotten permission to do fieldwork, and yet the only time she had left the Zürich was to give Commander Bianchi a checkup a few weeks ago. While it hadn’t _quite_ been a promise, she had told Gabriel that she would have him at her back when she went into the field, and she meant to stand by that.

He’d gone out on a mission nearly a month ago now. She had planned to join his team – until she realized how long they were to be gone for. So, she sent Remington instead to go to North America instead. She had no idea what they were doing – still, she wasn’t given _quite_ that kind of authority, but she was working on it – but it must be serious to rate a Commander to be gone for so long.

At least, while he was gone, she’d had one less nursemaid to tear her from her work.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t glad to hear they would be coming back very soon – within the next day or so. She’d check with Remington once they were back to make sure there were no medical issues she needed to be aware of, so that checks could be done and rosters could be updated appropriately.

She hadn’t spent the time idle, even if she was rather put out about not using the field clearance she had worked so hard to obtain. She was working on expanding on biotic limbs, specifically how much of a body could be replaced. It was all theoretical for now – partially because she didn’t want to bring it to the others without a solid plan and partially because she was _not_ looking forward to what would be needed to test it.

They had been gone almost exactly a month when Gabriel and his team returned to Zürich base.

She was speaking to Gloria, finishing up her daily round (assuming no emergencies arose), when Gabriel and two men made their way into the infirmary. Remington hadn’t called ahead with any injuries that would need to be reviewed or tended to – and he was usually very good at keeping her apprised – so she had no idea what was going on, _especially_ when the more unfamiliar of the men was handcuffed roughly to an infirmary bed.

She was already moving across the room when Gabriel cut her off and pulled her to the side.

“What in the _world_ is going on?” She demanded, voice quiet, as Gloria joined them. In nearly a year of service, she’d never had anyone _handcuffed_ in her infirmary. Angela wasn’t a fool; she knew they housed prisoners _somewhere_ , even if temporary, but she was certain it wasn’t in Zürich base. She made a mental note to find out _where_ , because there were certainly medical needs that needed to be met, but right now that wasn’t important.

“Found a new recruit. I was hoping you could give him a checkup.” Gabriel explained. Angela looked again at the man – yes, there was _still_ a handcuff on his right wrist – and then back to Gabriel.

“And he needs restraints because he’s such a _good_ recruit, of course.” She retorted. Normal recruits came in, _without_ fanfare or handcuffs, were seen by a doctor and then sent on their way to wait for the results. It was more than obvious that this man wasn’t a _usual_ recruit, but a prisoner? _Really_?

“Only the best for Overwatch.” He agreed, and she just _looked_ at him. “Seriously, doc, he’s fine. Really. The handcuff is just a precaution.”

“The guard is too, I suppose?” Of course, she’d had guards – acting as guards and not as patients – in the infirmary before, but usually that was when someone high ranking was in recovery. This stranger was clearly _not_ high ranking.

“Yes, the guard too.” His tone was almost _too_ patient.

“Fine.” She huffed. “You want a full workup then? Physical and psychological?” Gabriel nodded, and Angela glanced briefly to the doctor at her side. “Gloria, please go get the proper forms and instruments.” The woman walked away briskly. “Anything specific I should be looking for?”

“Not that I know of, but I’m no doctor.” She certainly was aware of _that_.

“What’s his name, then? I can get started while Gloria’s putting things together for me.” She might as well do it since she was here. Besides, she wasn’t going to put her staff into _possible_ danger because Gabriel thought it was ‘fine’.

“Jesse McCree.” Angela nodded, and then off she went to her newest patient. The guard at the foot of the bed glanced at her, but neither spoke to the other as she turned to the man reclining lazily on the bed.

“Mr. McCree, is it?” She asked, like Gabriel hadn’t _just_ told her his name.

“Just McCree, if y’don’t mind, ma’am.” He corrected politely, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side to address her. If the handcuff bothered him at all he didn’t show it.

“McCree, then. My name is Angela Ziegler. I’m going to be your doctor today.” He looked surprised that she was a doctor – her youth once again betraying her – but, unlike other patients in her past, didn’t make any kind of comment. She wasn’t sure if that was out of respectfulness or because of the guard; Gabriel had wandered off somewhere when she’d had her back turned, which she believed was a testament to how certain he was that the McCree wasn’t a danger.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

\---

It was sometime later that they were finished. Numerous questions – height, weight, smoking, drinking, heart problems, et cetera et cetera. She got all up close and personal: drawing blood, checking his eyes and ears, listening to various organs with a stethoscope, the works. The most uncomfortable parts, the ones that required him stripping down, were done behind the privacy of a screen and without the handcuff.

Even she would admit that most people wouldn’t want to get into a fight in their underwear – or naked – so she wasn’t particularly worried.

He passed the physical with flying colors – which wasn’t determined for an hour or two for various lab tests – despite some smoking and drinking, he was in perfect health. Whether that was true of his mental state as well was yet to be seen.

“I’ll get him scheduled with Dr. Port. It probably won’t be until tomorrow.” She told Gabriel via her communicator as she walked back to her office. “I’m willing to bet he’s still in meetings with your strike team.” Everyone – even her, even the Commanders – had to go through a meeting with the psychologist after a mission. Sometimes it was a short meeting, sometimes it was long, sometimes there was one meeting, and sometimes there were multiple; they never were sure until they got there. Until Dr. Port – or one of his team – cleared a person for duty, not even _she_ could put them in the field. She might be his boss, but she deferred to his knowledge on such things.

She was surprised that he had cleared her for missions, considering her own traumas she dealt with.

“How long is he going to have a guard?” She doubted passing a few tests would make everyone trust him, not after being a prisoner – even for what was, apparently, a short period of time.

“Probably awhile. He won’t be walking around in chains, but someone will be with him.” She nodded. Anyone could join up, provided they didn’t have a criminal record. She wasn’t so foolish to believe that that meant everyone in their ranks was _safe_ , not that she’d ever felt threatened by any agent. Sometimes people were recruited – like she was – and a background check was, apparently, less important.

“He must have really made an impression on you.” Angela observed. Even though his recruitment was… different, she was hard pressed to find anything to dislike from the man with a drawling southern accent – but she hadn’t been in the field against him.

“He did.” Gabriel agreed without elaborating. Angela knew there was a story there – _obviously_ – but, apparently, she wasn’t going to be told it. She had read the KIA reports a week before he had returned – he had lost three members to _whatever_ it was he’d been doing or dealing with in America. There had been nothing she, in Zürich, could do for them – or the ten _other_ gunshot wounds scattered through the team – except wait.

Her waiting had gained her a present in the form of a mystery named Jesse McCree.

“Well, I’m going to get back to my research, then.” She’d lost hours of work time that she wanted to recuperate.

“After lunch. Jack and I’ll meet you in the canteen.” The doctor huffed another sigh but didn’t argue as she turned to the elevator. She knew it would be pointless.

\---

When she wasn’t researching, she forced herself to practice in the gun range.

Angela stood in the range a few weeks later, pistol in hand and a set of ear protection. Before her was a target with the silhouette of a man, marked with target zones. She pointed the gun towards the upper left quadrant – the heart – released a breath, then squeezed the trigger.

A hole appeared in the target, significantly lower, but still within the silhouette – but nowhere near where a heart would be.

Angela blew out a breath. She knew she should spend more time here, but with duties assigned elsewhere it just never seemed to be that important – and then she was terribly disappointed in her ability when she finally found the time to practice. It made no sense for her to be disappointed, because even _she_ knew that for any skill you needed to practice – often and regularly. Still, her lack of progress was disheartening.

She pointed the gun again. Fired. Another bullet too low, but it was still within the target. Fired. Too low, and now too far to the left.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she jumped, whirling. A second hand grabbed her gun hand, pushing both down and away before she hurt herself – or the vaguely familiar man at her shoulder.

“Whoa now! Easy!” After a moment Angela relaxed, and the man she recognized as McCree – who was now sporting a ridiculously out of place cowboy hat – released her completely and stepped back. She set the gun down on the table set between her and the target and slid off her ear protection.

“McCree.” She hoped she didn’t sound breathless after the mild fright he’d given her. Not only had his hand at her shoulder startled her, but she could have _shot_ him – right here in Zürich base, and how would _that_ look? “Can I help you?” Angela barely needed to move her eyes to spot the guard a few steps behind him – it seemed he wasn’t off the leash yet. She was surprised he was even allowed _in_ the shooting range, considering he was still under guard.

“I was just passin’ by and I saw you in here.” He explained. “Thought I might say hello.” She arched an eyebrow. He just wanted to say hello, so he scared her half to death while she was holding a gun. While under guard. Of course.

“Why’d they give someone like you a gun, anyway?” McCree asked after a moment of silence, which gave away his real reason for approaching her: curiosity. She didn’t blame him; many doctors didn’t really have a need for weapons. Most of the doctors on Overwatch’s staff weren’t even cleared for combat – they wanted to be in hospitals or research labs, not shooting people.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” He made it sound like an insult, phrasing it like that. She’d be more offended if it didn’t feel rather spot-on. McCree put his hands up defensively.

“Now I didn’ mean anythin’ by that.” The cowboy hurried to assure her. “It’s just – wait, you _are_ a doctor, right? You weren’t just yankin’ my chain?” Angela chuckled despite herself.

“Yes, I _am_ a doctor.” She confirmed. “I’m also the head of the medical division.” If he was going to be a part of Overwatch, he might as well know what was already common knowledge, right? No one had told her she _shouldn’t_ tell him.

“You’re th’ _what_ now?” He glanced between her and the – poorly shot – target. “And they gave you a _gun_? What d’ya need one of them for?” It was a fair point – one that the leadership core had stood behind up until they realized that she might _actually_ be useful, or needed, sometimes.

“Well, I _do_ go into the field on occasion.” She made it sound like she’d been on dozens of missions instead of just the one, but he didn’t need to know that.

“With shootin’ like _that_?” McCree was looking at the target again. She knew it was bad – _knew_ it – but he didn’t have to say it with _that_ tone. “Y’got a death wish, doc?”

“No, I do _not_ have a death wish, McCree.” The words should be patient, but instead were more exasperated than anything. Why did everyone act like she was going to fall over dead the moment she left this base? “My position is _always_ as a medic – my marksmanship isn’t exactly what I pride myself on.” He shook his head.

“Not gonna pride yourself on much if y’get shot dead, now are ya, doc?” He stepped forward to press the button that switched the target out for a clean one. “Here, c’mon. Reload it.” He gestured to the gun. When she hesitated, he made an impatient noise. “Look, I know a thing or two about shootin’. I’ll give ya a few tips.”

Well, she really couldn’t do much worse.

She turned and reloaded the gun methodically before pulling her ear protection back into place. Once she was ready, she raised the gun up.

“Alright. Aim for the head.” Angela shifted her aim to the appropriate spot. “Fire.” He called out nine more shots, and all of them missed the mark – though at least they all hit the target _somewhere_.

“Okay, look.” Casually, the cowboy plucked the weapon away with practiced hands. With almost contemptuous ease he dropped the magazine to clatter to the floor carelessly, racked the slide to make sure no bullets were left inside the barrel, and pointed it towards the target. Her eyes flicked over to his guard, who had tensed and dropped their hand to the gun on their hip. Odd that she didn’t feel at all alarmed that McCree was holding her gun – she should, by all rights, even if it _was_ completely empty. She’d only met him the one time, in her infirmary, and while she’d read over Dr. Port’s assessment of him, while Gabriel seemed to trust him for _whatever_ reason, that didn’t _mean_ he was safe.

“Pay attention, doc.” The cowboy drew her out of her musings. His voice was the same casual drawl, but she noticed tension in his shoulders and the hard look in his eyes; Angela was certain he’d noticed the way she had been looking at the guard.

“I’m sorry. I’m listening.” If he _wasn’t_ safe, it wouldn’t do to upset him, would it? And if he _was_ , well, then what was the harm? Besides, the gun wasn’t loaded, so it would be fine – even if he probably _was_ dangerous unarmed, too.

“Good. Y’aim the gun, right?” She nodded in agreement. “Right. But when you pull the trigger, your hands go down, jus’ a little.” He let the gun dip in his hands, before offering it back to her grip first.

“Don’t reload it. Just aim.” She stepped back into position and pointed the gun. “Good. Now, when you pull th’ trigger, _only_ your finger moves. Not your hands, not your arms, not _anythin’_ else. Just your finger.”

She worked with him for about an hour before she called it quits. He had been careful not to touch her or the weapon – in fact he kept a pointed, but small, distance between both – for the remainder of the impromptu lesson. She wasn’t sure why, when he had started their conversation by doing _both_ of those things. Perhaps it was out of politeness or because of the guard at their backs, but she had the feeling it was because he thought she felt threatened by him. Maybe she should be, but she found it hard to feel threatened by much when she was in the Zürich base – even during her training simulations for combat.

Her aim wasn’t amazing – it never would be, considering she didn’t have the time or inclination for that. Still, it didn’t have to be amazing. A bullet, generally in any part of the body, would stop most enemies and that was all she really needed. She wasn’t looking to _kill_ anyone, after all.

She had to admit that he _wasn’t_ a bad teacher.

“I appreciate your help today, McCree.” Angela told him as they walked out, the guard still a few feet behind them. At some point his hand had left the gun at his side, but she hadn’t noticed when it was.

“’s my pleasure, ma’am. Let me know if y’ want anymore pointers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Her normal tutors were usually too busy running Overwatch – or training _actual_ agents who needed to be more functional than she would ever be – so it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to look to.

“Good. We’ll make a marksman outta you, jus’ you wait.” Angela laughed.

“I certainly hope not.”

\---

“You haven’t signed up for any missions.” Ana said as she led her towards the elevator so they could have lunch. “After all your fighting and training, too.” The older woman glanced over at Angela’s face, one eyebrow raised. “I wonder why that is.”

“I’ve been busy lately. Besides, I can only go when one of you go – that limits my options dramatically.” Angela demurred carefully. While what she’d promised to Gabriel wasn’t a secret – not really – she found herself loathe to talk about it with the other two. At best she would be at the mercy of endless teasing and at worst they would read deeper into the promise than necessary.

“I should be available for one soon, though. I’m just tying up a few loose ends.” A statement that was a bold-faced lie. Seeing how none of her researchers were working with her _and_ Angela had been keeping her notes in German – a language she was pretty confident none of the others could speak – Ana would never know, and what Ana didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Is that so?” Ana asked, nodding. The reasoning was perfectly valid, of course. They had brought her on for her research expertise, after all – even if she had kicked up a fuss about battlefield training. “That’s good. I’ll make sure that we keep you in mind, then.” Angela smiled over at the woman.

“I’d appreciate that, Ana.” She was forced to say, even as she knew that there was a decent chance she’d still be remaining home.

\---

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked when Gabriel strolled into her office around dinnertime.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He said, standing in the doorway and waiting while she dutifully put aside her pen and paper. She leaned back in her chair to look up at him, making no move to rise. After a moment, he stepped in and closed the door, leaning his back against it.

“Are you purposefully avoiding going on missions?” He looked surprised at her question and made no indication that he was planning to answer. “It’s been nearly _three months_ since I managed to convince the three of you to let me on missions, since I _promised_ to stay in Zürich if you weren’t on the mission with me.” Her arms crossed as she stared pointedly at him. “Either you’re avoiding missions or it’s something else.” She raised an eyebrow instead of asking a second time.

“I’m not _avoiding_ missions, Angela.” He told her, sighing. “I haven’t been needed on any missions, so I’ve been here. I _did_ just get back barely a month ago, if you recall.” Of course she did; he’d brought back the prisoner-turned-recruit. He gave her a look in return. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like you aren’t busy here.”

“I saw Ana today, and she was _curious_ as to why I had abstained from missions, seeing how hard I fought to get approved for them. I wouldn’t put it past you to avoid missions just to keep me safe.” He laughed ruefully.

“I _had_ considered doing just that.” If looks could kill, he’d probably be dead. “But I can’t afford to sit on the sidelines, so no chance there.” He shook his head and met her glare unapologetically. “You’ll have your chance, Angela, whether I like it or not.” She sighed – she was a doctor; she _exuded_ patience, but three months was a rather long time to wait.

“Alright, Gabriel. I believe you.” She said after a long moment, rising. He shifted, moving away from the door so they could leave.

“So, you saw Ana today?” He asked conversationally, leading her towards the elevator so they could go eat.

“We went to lunch. Before that, I saw McCree – which was surprising.” Gabriel glanced over at her, and she elaborated obligingly. “I was in the practice range. I didn’t know he was allowed in there while under guard.”

“He’s not.” Oh, of course he wasn’t, and yet he’d hung about for an hour with her. One more question to add to her growing list about Jesse McCree. “What was he doing there?” There was some alarm in his voice, probably because this was the first he was hearing about their favorite – only – prisoner running around in places he shouldn’t be.

“He gave me a couple of pointers. We were in there – with his guard, of course – for an hour.” She looked up towards him worriedly. “I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be there. _Nothing_ bad happened.” Angela was hurried to assure him, omitting the fact that McCree had disarmed her at the very beginning of the lesson. While the cowboy had, apparently, broken a rule, he hadn’t done anything _else_ to be punished for during that time. Gabriel sighed and ran a hand over his head, obviously frustrated, before pressing the elevator call button.

“Jack’s not gonna like that one bit.” She didn’t see Jack and Gabriel at odds over many things, but she had come to learn that McCree was a sticking point between the two. Oh, they didn’t come out and _tell_ her – they’d just say it wasn’t her business, because it wasn’t, not really – but she wasn’t _blind_. She and Jack would be eating casually, and then his entire demeanor would change to a tense, watchful bulldog the moment McCree – and guard – walked into the room to eat alone in some corner. Gabriel was the exact opposite; he’d excuse himself and go chat casually with the cowboy for a few minutes before returning. Then there was the pointed comments between the two of them on the off chance they were all together – whether in the command center, canteen, or anywhere else.

There was nothing in the reports – the very few she had the authority to read, at least – that explained why this one man was the center of an ongoing argument between their two Commanders. It just _was_.

“Is McCree going to be… kicked out?” The phrasing wasn’t right, but she couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask. He was a prisoner – if he left, it would be to a prison somewhere. The doors to the elevator slid open as Gabriel shook his head.

“No.” The resigned way he said it told her there was going to be an argument between him and Jack, but he seemed confident he’d win it. “But he’s going to be in a _lot_ of trouble.” Well. There wasn’t much to say about that.

“So. McCree gave you some pointers, then?” The words were more casual than the tension he was carrying, but she was willing to play along.

“Yeah.” She shot him a mischievous look. “They helped better than yours did.”

“Just because you’re a _terrible_ student doesn’t mean that my advice wasn’t good.” He teased her. She gaped at him in indignation, before crossing her arms and turning to look at the elevator doors.

“I have it on _excellent_ authority that I’m a great student.” Angela told him primly. “You’re just an awful teacher.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve trained plenty of agents.” He informed her, looking only _slightly_ less tense, as the doors opened once more.

“Oh? It’s a wonder that I haven’t needed to patch more of them up, then.” She replied, and then laughed at the indignant look on his face.

\---

Gabriel finally accepted another mission three weeks later. They were heading to Venezuela; a factory had been captured by Talon. While it wasn’t an Overwatch facility, it was a major biotic limb manufacturer in South America. It wasn’t a large strike team – just her, Gabriel, and four others – but the estimated force occupying the facility didn’t rate a larger team.

The flight was going to be a long one – unsurprising, considering the distance to South America from Switzerland – so it was unfortunate that she couldn’t bring any of her research along with her, just in case it was lost and fell into the wrong hands. Instead, she was forced to bring along a book – or be bored for the entire flight.

She’d boarded, the Valkyrie suit carefully packed away – she wasn’t going to wear it for the thirteen and a half hours it would take for them to get there, though she would have to change before they arrived. She was still dressed the part of a combat medic just in case, with all the tools necessary – including her pistol – attached to the belt she wasn’t currently wearing. She had been one of the last to arrive – there were last minute instructions to give to Gloria and her research teams – but they should be leaving shortly. They were just waiting on Gabriel to arrive.

“Move over.” Angela glanced up from what she was reading to see Gabriel standing in the aisle next to her. She glanced around the plane – certainly it wasn’t terribly large, but there was plenty of space that wouldn’t require her to move. Still, she obliged him and shifted seats so he could have the one she vacated.

“Ready?” He asked her as the plane began preparations for takeoff.

“If I didn’t have everything I needed, do you think I’d have gotten on the plane?” She asked, willfully misunderstanding his question. He shot her an exasperated look.

“I meant for your first mission.” She raised an eyebrow. “First _sanctioned_ mission.” He amended.

“Of course I’m ready.” Angela replied easily. “It’s not going to be anything like my _actual_ first mission, so I’m sure I’ll do fine.”

“Don’t get too cocky.” He warned. “There’s every chance that this mission goes south.” He leaned back in his seat. “Don’t forget about Naples – and what brought them to your infirmary.” She bit her lip to keep from retorting, because the advice _was_ sound.

“I’ll be careful.” She murmured instead.

“You’re damn right you will be.” He retorted, and she glanced sidelong at him before looking back down at the journal she’d been reading.

“What are you reading?” He asked, interrupting her a few minutes later once the plane leveled out. She closed her eyes momentarily with a sigh – she wasn’t going to get anything done – and glanced back up at him.

“A medical journal. It has several articles and case reports on the use of biotic limbs that I’m interested in.” She had high hopes for this particular journal; she was hoping that it would have information that would greatly improve her own research.

“Seriously?” His voice was teasing, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, _seriously_. I couldn’t bring my research notes along – understandably – so I brought study material. It’s for my research.” She gave him another _look_. “You know, that other thing I do that _isn’t_ fixing you up.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with the concept, yes,” Gabriel replied, “seeing how I drag you away from it most nights.” She smothered a laugh, but turned back to her journal; this time, he let her.

Many hours later, she was still engrossed in her journal. The flight had been rather uneventful – the other agents had kept mostly to themselves two rows back, and Gabriel had been reading… something. Angela hadn’t asked what. Gabriel nudged her gently, and she glanced up briefly.

“You need to get some sleep.” He whispered. She hadn’t realized that it had gotten quiet – or darker – within the plane. The others were probably asleep – like she would be, were she actually one for keeping normal sleeping patterns.

“I can’t.” She whispered back, turning to the next page idly.

“What do you mean, you _can’t_? You need to be rested, so you _have_ to.” He snapped back at her, voice still hushed. She glanced up at him, meeting his intensity with anxiety.

“There’s too many people; I don’t need _everyone_ knowing I have nightmares – and what comes after.” She whispered back, her words barely loud enough to reach his ears, even close as he was. His eyes widen and his face gentles.

Angela couldn’t afford for anyone to catch her so vulnerable, couldn’t risk losing the respect she had gained; it was bad enough Gabriel, a Commander, had stumbled on the secret of hers. She’s supposed to be _Dr. Ziegler_ , cool and collected and _absolutely_ in charge, because at the end of the day it’s her calls that will result in life and death, and she can’t have anyone doubt her for even a _single_ second. They can’t think that she has a heart, that she cares absolutely _too much_ , that every death – under her hands or halfway across the globe – cuts another piece of her soul away.

And, seeing how she was going on her _first_ actual, sanctioned mission – which absolutely _terrified_ her even as she had the overwhelming drive to go – she knew that there would be nightmares. She would dream about Gabriel getting shot and shooting Jack and watching Huang die because the mission had gone sour; that was what she was going into, after all – shooting and pain and _death_.

“I’ll be right here, Angela.” Gabriel whispered back. “I’ll wake you up, first sign of a nightmare.” She shook her head.

“You need to sleep too – almost more than I do. You’re the _Commander_ , you’re in charge of this merry little expedition. You have to be well rested.” She insisted, turning his own logic against him.

“Seeing how it’s _your_ job to keep us alive, you take precedence. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you if I get tired, alright?” She sighed. It wasn’t alright, but she knew he was right; she needed to sleep, because they’d probably be running straight into combat once they landed. She couldn’t afford an error due to exhaustion, not when it was something so easily remedied.

“You promise you’ll wake me?” Angela asked, even as she started to put the journal away.

“Of course I will.” He assured her, and she nodded, leaning back into her seat that wasn’t really comfortable and didn’t give, not even a _little_ , to close her eyes. She felt his eyes on her, and she fought not to squirm or peek; instead, she forced herself to blank her mind so that she could _attempt_ to sleep.

\---

“Wake up, Angela.” His voice, which rumbled strangely in her ear, was accompanied by a sharp shake of her knee. Her eyes blinked open, confused momentarily at where she was. There was a loud humming noise and she was pressed against something warm and soft. She blinked, before registering who had spoken.

“Gabriel?” She murmured sleepily, blinking slowly, remembering that she was on a plane, that there were others around them, that he’d _promised_ to wake her up – and here she was, waking up. Still, that didn’t explain what she was leaned against. Carefully, she turned her head, to find that she’d practically buried herself against his side. Flushing a deep scarlet, she pulled away sharply – displacing the arm that had been carefully placed over her shoulders. “What–?” the word escaped her, much too loudly for the confined space.

“Christ, Angela, you’re fine; calm down before you wake the whole damn plane.” Gabriel said quickly, glancing away before she could tell if he was _also_ blushing, putting up a hand before she could lay into him. “You fell asleep, and then decided I made a good pillow.” He shrugged sheepishly. “’I didn’t want to wake you, so I left you alone.” He hesitated briefly before continuing. “Okay, I _did_ move my arm, but only because you were putting it to sleep.”

“You should have woken me.” She insisted, terribly embarrassed.

“And wake you when you were _actually_ sleeping for once? Never.” His voice was teasing, but when she glanced towards him she saw that he was still sheepishly looking anywhere but at her. “Besides, you were _asleep_ , Angela. It’s fine.” He glanced over at her momentarily, before yawning.

“I woke you because I need to sleep; far as I can tell you didn’t have a nightmare.” He told her, and she nodded gratefully. Her anxiety about the others around her may have suppressed the nightmares – for now – but she doubted it would last.

“Go to sleep, Gabriel.” She whispered, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “I’ll wake you if anything exciting happens.”

Angela leaned down to grab the journal, but found the she couldn’t concentrate; instead, she found herself watching the man sleeping next to her.

\---

They had managed to get inside the factory, but they were under fire. Their team had been separated – and not by choice; Gabriel had strictly ordered them to stay together, but it just wasn’t possible when you considered the lack of cover in the face of enemy guns. Angela was currently crouched inside a doorway behind one of their agents – she wasn’t certain, but his name _might_ be Ramirez – while he was firing at the enemy on the catwalk above them. _Most_ of the enemy was above them, which made the lack of cover that much worse.

“Medic! Lewis is down!” The call came over the comms unit. Angela glanced out of her position, only to jerk back to avoid getting shot. Her hand reached up.

“What’s your location?” She demanded, glancing up at the man shooting in front of her. His eyes were focused above – there was still an enemy up there, it seemed.

“He’s under the conveyor belts on the left side.” Angela bit her lip, thinking; she was holed up in this room that – she glanced around, ignoring the handful of workers cowering at the back of the room – was a death trap without any secondary exit, and she needed to get across the entire floor to reach him.

“We’re under fire on the right side, shooter above.” She reported, glancing out again when the gunfire ceased for a moment. If she could spot another agent she could fly out, but it would cause her to abandon the man she was currently paired with – not that she was doing him any good, but it would definitely make her feel terrible. “Can anyone clear a path?”

“Ramirez and I will create a distraction, doctor.” Gabriel’s voice responded. She glanced over at the man covering her again; guess his name wasn’t Ramirez. “You two get out as soon as their attention shifts; it won’t last long.”

“Roger, Commander.” Both she and the now-unnamed man at her right responded.

“We’re going to make a break for that machine there,” her current guardian told her, pointing. Angela glanced back at the people in the room.

“Stay back, and get the door shut when we’re gone.” Angela ordered them; with the gunmen above them and injured across the room, there wasn’t much they could do for them at this point. If they stayed back, they shouldn’t get injured or recaptured.

Gunfire lit up the main room. “Go!” The two of them sprinted for their target, eyes peeled for a shooter that might have them in their sights. To their right – and above, always above it seemed – Angela spotted an enemy agent raise their gun.

“Get down!” She shoved the man forward with one hand before throwing herself to the side, bullets filling the space they’d just occupied. Her heart was hammering – that was nearly the two of them, she was _not_ cut out for this – but she got back on her feet and got behind the machine that had been their target. Moments later her partner was at her side again, clutching his gun.

From this position she could see Gabriel and what could only be Ramirez – how did she mistake the two men, they looked _nothing_ alike – ducking into cover. At the far side, where the injured Lewis was, she saw movement – probably, _hopefully_ , one of their own protecting him.

“I’m going to change positions,” she quietly told the man hiding with her. “Watch out for yourself, alright?” He looked at her quizzically – _all_ of the agents on this mission knew she was barely capable of protecting herself – but before he could speak, her hand was on her comm unit. “Commander, I need a clear visual on your position.”

“Give me a sec, doc; I’m a _little_ busy.” His terse reply came in a few moments later. At her side, the man shot up at the enemy – a pained cry indicated that some of his bullets hit their mark. There shouldn’t be _too_ many more left, but until they were certain it was safe – for them and the remaining hostages that were upstairs – they had to act as if the enemy was present.

Most of the hostages had been recovered, funneling out through side rooms that they had cleared – but there were still many in the building. Those were the ones still forced to remain inside due to the violence – like the ones in the room she’d just recently vacated with her partner – but there were still many upstairs with the Talon operatives. It was only a matter of time before the enemy dragged them out – as shields or for ransom.

“Now, doc!” Staff in hand, Angela focused her gaze on the man who had rose from cover for a brief moment, pushing the gear to jump to his position. She burst out of cover, the gear dragging her along an invisible tether towards him. She was forced to stop a little more than halfway – he had to duck into cover, which forced the tether to drag her into some workstations before she canceled it. Angela crouched behind the workstation as bullets buried themselves in it. They’d spotted her – not surprising, seeing how big of a target the movement made her.

As soon as Angela spotted Gabriel, she jumped out of her position to rush to his, regardless of the bullets still sporadically firing towards her; for her trouble, a bullet buried itself into the back of the suit she was wearing – it didn’t pierce the suit, fortunately, but it still would leave a sizeable bruise. She let the momentum drag her into a slide on the ground, shielding herself from the bullets that were still peppering his – and Ramirez’s – position.

“Damn it, Ziegler.” Gabriel snarled at her as she crouched behind the two men. “Don’t be so damn reckless.” He looked her over, but he saw that she wasn’t bleeding; she realized he must have seen the shooter aiming at her and made sure he didn’t see the bullet still lodged in the suit. She made a sound of affirmation without _actually_ agreeing; like he said months ago, she’d take risks to help the wounded that he wouldn’t.

“What’s the name of the guy with Lewis?” She asked as they sat hidden on the killing floor. Gabriel glared at her – he _knew_ what she was planning to do, and he could stop her, but they both knew he wouldn’t, not when the danger was outweighed by the aid she could provide.

“That’s Cooper; you left Robinson.” Ah, both of their names started with R – not that it was any excuse for her to have mistaken them. Angela nodded at the information, and Gabriel peered out in their direction.

“Update on Lewis’ condition?” Angela whispered into the comm.

“I’m bleeding pretty bad, doc.” A new voice – presumably Lewis – cut in. “Cooper’s covering me.”

“Cooper, I need a visual on you now; I’m with the Commander and Ramirez.” Angela ordered, looking in the vague direction that she knew they were in, watching for movement that signified the man she needed to reach.

“We’re on the left side, ma’am.” He reported, and she rolled her eyes.

“I need a _visual_ – with my eyes.” She clarified, as if the word “visual” wasn’t obvious enough. She kept her eyes focused away from the two men that were whispering plans at her side. The gunfire had slowed, which led Angela to assume they were waiting for a better target, they were regrouping for a better attack, or they were getting the hostages out.

None of those options were good for them, but they couldn’t dwell on it.

“Cover me, Commander.” She interrupted, when she spotted agent Cooper. Before he could say anything, she’d darted to the side – for a better, more clear path – and started her jump.

It was impossible to move evasively when you were being dragged in a straight line, and since the enemy had learned of her ability with the last two jumps, it was unsurprising when she came under fire shortly after erupting from her cover. She glanced around sharply, looking for the person shooting at her, even as she heard suppressive fire coming from Gabriel’s position.

She landed on her feet just before Cooper, who was watching her wide-eyed, and she shoved them back under cover as bullets followed her. Though the trip had felt like it had taken hours – she supposed that being shot at might skew ones’ sense of time – it was only a minute or two since she had left Robinson.

“Where is he?” She asked; there were plenty of conveyor belts around them. Cooper pointed, and she quickly darted towards his position, trying to avoid getting shot. She crawled under the conveyor belt with him, stomach flat to the floor to accommodate the wings – there wasn’t a lot of space here for her to work with – and examined his wound.

He’d been shot in the leg; judging by the holes in both sides it had passed through cleanly – which made her job that much easier. Quickly – and awkwardly – she pointed the staff at his body and press the trigger. The area around them lit up slightly with yellow, and Angela briefly hoped it wouldn’t make them a bigger target, and the flesh began to knit together quickly. Not even ten minutes later his leg was patched up.

“Stay under cover – you can’t afford to lose much more blood.” She ordered the man, who nodded, before carefully wiggling back out from under the belt. The last thing she needed was to get tangled up in some wire – they’d _never_ let her in the field again. Once she was out – and under proper cover – she glanced around, trying to take stock.

She spotted Gabriel and Ramirez making their way up the steps, towards where Talon had holed up. The enemy had seemed to pull back, so it seemed that Gabriel had decided to take the fight to them She spotted Robinson moving alone, getting the hostages they’d been trapped with out of the building during the lull in fighting. Cooper appeared at her shoulder.

“Commander wants the three of us to take the stairs,” he pointed towards the ones in question, since there were three different sets, “and meet up with him.” Angela nodded, gesturing for the men to lead. She wasn’t a fighter and would be worthless leading the way.

It didn’t take them long to reach the top of the stairs, which – aside from the Overwatch agents – was empty except for two dead bodies. There was one room between them and the other two; Cooper ducked inside to check it briefly before backing out, declaring it cleared. Lewis took point and Angela fell in behind Cooper, the three of them carefully approaching the other two. There was one last door, which they assumed the enemy was hidden behind.

“Lewis, Ziegler, you stay back. There should only be two left – a quick fight; we just have to find them.” Angela nodded, keeping herself to the back of the group, Lewis just ahead of her. “Cooper, you’ll go right; Ramirez and I will go left.” The orders were hushed, so close to the door that held their enemies. “Avoid hitting the civilians, got it?”

Then they were bursting through the door that was, surprisingly, not barricaded. Angela stayed outside the room, shoulder pressed against one wall as Lewis moved carefully to peer inside. She couldn’t see anything, but she heard no gunfire, no fighting.

“What’s goi–” She began, when a footstep behind her had her turning, hand reaching for the pistol that was at her side. Her eyes registered two enemies as they pulled their triggers. There was nowhere for her to go, not with enemies ahead and Lewis behind. All she could do was flare the wings of her suit to try to protect the man behind her as the bullets hit their mark.

Her Valkyrie suit caught some of them – fulfilling its purpose – but at such close range it was nearly useless. She felt blood soak the front of her suit as she collapsed to her knees. However, even after being breached, her Valkyrie suit did its job. Except for the sharp, piercing pain of the bullets entering her, the suit managed to numb it to an acceptable level.

She lifted her shaking hands, feeling like she was moving through wet sand – god it was like her nightmares come to life, only this time _she_ was the patient – as she tried to press them to her wounds, to stop the bleeding. Her chest, once Overwatch blue, was now darkening with her blood. From this angle, she couldn’t tell how many times she was hit – how bad it was – but she knew that she needed surgery.

“Angela!” It could have been seconds or hours, but suddenly Gabriel was in her face. She hadn’t even heard the firefight around her through the roaring in her ears, but he wouldn’t have put his guns down if it wasn’t safe so the enemy _had_ to be dead. She smiled blearily at the man, knowing that the expression was wrong for the situation but incapable of anything else. She’d never seen him look so frantic – not even when he’d _begged_ her not to go into the field. Served her right for not listening.

“Did they pass through?” Angela asked him, the Valkyrie suit keeping her coherent enough to do her job. He looked at her, confusion plain on his face. “The bullets, Gabriel.” She was past the point of decorum, of calling him his title, and seeing how she was filled with bullets she doubted he cared too much either. Gabriel shifted to look her over for exit wounds, before shaking his head.

“Pretty sure they’re still in there.” He told her gruffly, and she sighed. While that meant they hadn’t passed through her to Lewis, it _did_ make caring for her wounds that much harder.

“How’re the others?” She asked suddenly, as if she wasn’t slowly dying before him. “Lewis? Is he okay?” He had to be okay – she’d done her best to shield him from the danger, but she knew that her slim frame only had a small chance of keeping him completely safe – and he’d already lost too much blood. She tried to twist in Gabriel’s hold – when did he start supporting her weight? – to try to find the agent in question.

“Stop moving, Angela.” He snapped at her. “Lewis is fine – he was able to take cover.” Relief coursed through her. She wasn’t sure if he was safe before she’d turned, or if she’d bought him precious seconds to move to safety, but it didn’t really matter because he was _fine_.

“You need to worry about yourself, Angela. Transport should be here soon, and we’ll get you a doctor.” Angela nodded, trying to ignore the sudden vertigo that the movement caused. “Where are your bandages?” He asked, bringing her attention back to the wounds in her chest instead of the agents in her care. She needed to carry some, because the staff wouldn’t work on all wounds – like the ones she had.

“My satchel.” He reached over and grabbed the bag at her hip. “You need to take the suit off.” She told him, licking her lips. She knew that once it came off, she’d feel every bit of the pain that was being suppressed. “Wrap the wounds tightly, pressure is important.” She ordered him. Hopefully, if he wrapped it too tightly, they’d get her to a doctor before any permanent damage was done – but she’d rather it be too tight than not tight enough.

“How do I take this damn thing off you?” He demanded, looking over the Valkyrie suit. She knew that, if necessary, he’d tear the thing to pieces to get it off her. Quickly, she instructed him through the straps and fasteners to take it off her.

Once it was disengaged, she gasped sharply against the incredible pain that rolled over her. Her eyes dropped unbidden down to her chest, and she saw three entry holes scattered across her body. Suddenly, she couldn’t control her breathing – this was happening to _her_ , she was shot, she was bleeding out, and _she_ was the medic with no one to care for _her_. Gabriel was right, she was going to _die_ , and it was all because of her stubbornness and pride.

“You’re going to be fine.” Gabriel murmured, trying to comfort her – but his words were nothing against the weight of her panic. “Angela, calm down. _Breathe_.” He gave her a sharp shake – one that, as a medical professional, she’d _never_ recommend – that jarred her into taking a sharp, deep breath. “Stay with me, Angela.” He ordered. Angela nodded shakily.

Angela shut her stinging eyes and focused on breathing. She felt Gabriel moving against her, pulling the bandages across her chest tightly to stem the bleeding.

It was an agony that seemed to last an eternity, made worse by Gabriel’s rough bandaging skills. Finally he finished, tying them off so they’d stay on her body. She looked down again, seeing the bandages already staining red due to the unrestrained bleeding, and shuddered.

“You’re going to be fine.” Gabriel insisted a second time, one hand firmly at the wounds to try to stymie the blood that wouldn’t stop coming.

“Commander, helicopter’s here.” Lewis’s voice suddenly sparked to life in her ear, startling her. She’d forgotten about the others after he’d confirmed they were safe. At least his voice meant that Gabriel hadn’t given her a comforting lie to calm her.

“Roger. One of you come get the doctor’s gear.” Gabriel lifted Angela up into his arms, causing her to cry out with pain. “I know, I know. I’ve got you.” He murmured soothingly, but he didn’t pause, carrying her away from the bloody scene. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the pain each step sent arcing through her, and buried her face in his chest as tears streaked her cheeks.

Gabriel briefly passed her to another – she wasn’t sure who, she was too far gone in her pain – so he could climb into the helicopter. She was handed back over, and then he was sitting carefully with her nestled in his lap. As soon they brought her gear, specifically her staff, to the helicopter, they headed for Watchpoint: Santa Marta in Colombia.

“Just hold on a little longer for me, Angela.” Gabriel murmured, bringing his lips close to her ear so she could hear him over the engine. It was only then, as they were in the air heading for her salvation, that she passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts: I checked my approximate timeline, and (plus or minus a week) Angela is shot on her year anniversary. Definitely didn't plan that but oof.


	10. Unknown

She opened her eyes, once again confused as to where she was. The beeping of an EKG machine met her ears, and she wondered vaguely why she fell asleep in a patients’ room – though she didn’t remember doing any operations recently.

Then she remembered that _she_ was the patient. The memories rolled over her – of bullets and blood and shock and _pain_ – and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. She could have _died_. Only years of practice pulled her back out of her dark memories, and she forced herself to find something else to focus on.

She glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar room; she must be in Santa Marta. Unlike her patient rooms, this one had windows; apparently it was either really early or really late, since it was dark outside. Continuing to the other direction, she found Gabriel in the chair nearest her bed, eyes closed and arms crossed. She was surprised to find him there, considering he was the leader – the Commander – of their mission; wasn’t he needed elsewhere? Still, he did tell her he’d be watching her back – even if he had to carry her away with bullet wounds.

Not that she blamed him. They couldn’t have known that they were lying in wait in a different room – the room that, admittedly, Cooper cleared _terribly_ – to sneak up on them. It had been the best call to make, even if it had ended in her injury.

Speaking of injury, she looked down towards her chest. There were bandages, so she was fairly certain that she had stitches, rather than being healed – which was odd, seeing how they should, at the very least, have had her Caduceus staff to heal her. She remembered Gabriel bringing it along – at least, she thought she did. That might have just been a dream.

She shifted, sparking a gasp of pain as her stitches tugged – yep, she definitely hadn’t been healed – and she saw Gabriel’s face twitch as if he’d heard her, even in his sleep. She bit her lip, trying to keep from waking him; surely he was tired. He’d probably been watching over her since she’d been placed in this room. Fortunately, whatever drugs they’d pumped into her dulled the pain quickly, as if it were only a bad memory.

Then the door opened, a nurse bustling in, and Gabriel practically flew out of his chair. Angela noticed that his guns were conspicuously missing – someone had probably confiscated them from him; understandably, considering when she’d walked into Jack’s room in Naples he’d nearly shot her. That didn’t stop him from trying to reach for them, but the nurse – who either had experienced his rough greeting before or had nerves of steel – ignored him to check on Angela.

“How are you feeling?” The woman asked when she saw Angela was awake.

“As well as expected.” Angela told her, ignoring Gabriel for the moment to focus on the woman. The woman moved about, checking her vitals and making sure she was properly healthy. She was about to leave when Angela stopped her. “May I see my chart?” The woman vacillated, unsure whether it was appropriate to do such an action.

“Don’t worry about that,” Gabriel cut in, much to Angela’s chagrin and the nurses’ relief, “just send the doctor when he’s awake.” The nurse agreed, and quickly left the room before Angela could ask for anything else. The bedridden blonde glared at Gabriel.

“I don’t see why I have to ask the doctor, seeing how _I’m_ his boss.” Gabriel shook his head and sat back down.

“Isn’t it inappropriate or something for a doctor to deal with their own surgical care?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes. He was absolutely right, but she didn’t care – she just wanted information, some semblance of control in this insanity her life had become.

“Reading my chart doesn’t mean I’m _interfering_ with their work.” He just _looked_ at her, and she made a face. “Okay, fine, I probably would have – but that doesn’t make it _inappropriate_.” More like a conflict of interest, but he didn’t need to know that. “I _am_ a doctor, too, you know.” She huffed. “What I really want to know is why they gave me stitches instead of just patching me up with the healing stream.”

“I doubt that’s in your chart, Angela.” He told her patiently, too patiently, and she sighed. She knew he was right, but she was trapped in this bed, unable to do anything, and it was extraordinarily frustrating.

“No, it wouldn’t be.” She replied after a long moment. “But the amount of stitches I have would.” She retorted, inappropriately cheery – it was that or burst into tears, and she wasn’t going to give into that if she could help it. Besides, she knew he was going to lecture her the _moment_ she let this conversation die – because he’d been against her going into the field, because he was afraid of her getting hurt, because he’d carried her away with bullet holes.

“Really.” He deadpanned, and she just sighed and looked away. She really didn’t care how many stitches she had – the only thing that mattered was that she wasn’t actively bleeding out. It was her need for control, which she completely lacked laying in this bed filled with stitches, that drove her need for her chart, and she was smart enough to realize that. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, before he finally spoke.

“Do you know how long they had you in surgery?” He asked quietly. Of course she didn’t – she had been unconscious – but she could hazard a guess if she wanted. She considered making a quip about it being in her chart, but figured it would be better to stay silent and opted to shake her head instead. “Almost seven hours.” While it wasn’t _terribly_ surprising, considering they had stitched up all of her wounds, it _was_ longer than expected.

“I’m… sorry?” She said it as a question, mostly because she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. It wasn’t her fault she got shot – that blame laid squarely on her shooters, or (if you reached a little) Cooper for clearing an unsafe room, or (if you reached a little more) Lewis standing between her and the door instead of the other way around, or (if you reached even _further_ ) his for telling her and Lewis to stay behind. It also wasn’t her fault that the surgeon decided to stitch her shut when he had other tools at his disposal – but it wasn’t like she had much of a say in that, seeing how she’d been _unconscious_. Not that she could _truly_ blame the nameless doctor, either; he probably didn’t know how to operate her staff.

“Seven hours, Angela.” He repeated, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I had to carry you, broken and bloody, out of that damn factory. You’d lost so much blood on the way in, I wasn’t sure you’d come back out.” Nothing she could say would take away the haunted look in his eyes, so Angela stayed silent. Besides, he wasn’t looking for reassurances – he could see with his own eyes that she was fine. His eyes searched her face, looked at bandages that were no longer blood soaked, and was silent for so long that Angela wondered if she should say something.

“I didn’t want this for you, Angela.” His voice was thick with emotion. “When I heard those gun shots, when I _saw_ you on the _ground_ –” he broke off, covering his eyes with one hand and taking a harsh breath.

“Gabriel,” she murmured, reaching one hand out as if to comfort – then overextended, sending pain through her chest and forcing her to pull back with a wince. He didn’t seem to notice, and for that she was grateful; he was overwrought as it was.

“You were on the ground, blood _everywhere_. And I had to _leave_ you there, on the ground between me and their guns.” They both knew that was the right call – even when he’d appeared over her in that nightmare of a reality, she’d known he’d taken care of the danger before coming to her aid. It didn’t make the choice any easier, though; she knew all about hard choices. His voice was harsh, the words were pouring out of him.

“You were bleeding out, and _I’m_ not a doctor. Hell, I wasn’t even a damn boy scout as a kid.” He lifted his face back up, desperate eyes meeting her own. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.” It wasn’t really a confession if both of them knew that, was it? “I wanted to keep you safe. I was _supposed_ to keep you safe. I wanted you behind me, so that, if anyone were to be hurt, it would be _me_.” He lifted his gaze to hers, almost panicked. “Angela, I would never put you in danger, not willingly, not purposefully. _Never_."

“I know, Gabriel. I know.” She found herself comforting him, voice gentle, which was an odd turn of the tables – she’d always expected that, after getting shot, _she’d_ be the one in need of comfort. Then again, she’d always been one to put her needs behind those of others.

She hadn’t realized how much it would shake him – and she wasn’t sure that he had either.

“I gave you the order that nearly got you killed, Angela. I can’t– that’s not okay. It will _never_ be okay.” He ran a hand over his head. “I just wanted to keep you safe, out of the line of fire.” He gave a harsh laugh. “If it hadn’t been for that ridiculous looking suit of yours, you _would_ be dead. There were four bullets buried in the damn thing – including _one_ in the back.” He fixed her with such a _look_ , and she tried her best to look innocent because they _both_ knew that it had happened before he gave the order to stay behind.

“My suit isn’t _ridiculous_.” She protested instead, but that _so_ wasn’t the point. She shifted, not knowing how to fix this, not when he was looking at her like his dog just died. She fixed _bodies,_ not emotions or memories; she couldn’t even help herself on that matter. Still, she had to try for his sake. Angela held out a hand, beckoning with her fingers for him to take it. Hesitantly he grasped her fingers, clutching them too-tightly, as if they were a lifeline.

“I _am_ alive, Gabriel.” She whispered firmly. “I am alive and I _will_ be fine – once I get rid of these damned stitches – because _you_ saved me.” She gave his hand a weak shake; any firmer and she’d be gasping from pain and that _would not_ help anything. “You don’t always have to take a bullet to have my back, to save me, Gabriel.” Angela gave him a pointed look. “In fact, please avoid getting shot as much as possible. I hate having you under my knife.” He laughed again, brittle and short – but she’d gotten him to laugh, and that was something, wasn’t it? They were quiet for some time, the only sound her heartbeat amplified by the EKG, their hands still clasped in a near-desperate grasp.

She worried her lip in the silence, thinking – and the EKG gave away her heart as it began to beat faster.

“Angela? Are you–” Gabriel’s worried eyes flashed up to hers, spurred by the sudden increase of her heart.

“When you said this would end in heartbreak – you weren’t talking about me, were you?” She whispered, cutting him off. It had made sense at the time, because of how personally she took all of her patients – but seeing him now, it made her wonder. He wasn’t this panicked when Jack had been in her care – and two people had died under her hands the very same day. It might just be because he’d seen Jack hurt before, countless times before probably, but she wasn’t sure that she believed it.

“No, I wasn’t.” He confessed in the growing silence, the words strangled and forced. The EKG machine amplified her shock, and she hated it for making her _more_ transparent than normal. She squeezed his fingers tightly, unsure of what to say in the face of such a declaration.

She felt like they were on the edge of a knife, and she wasn’t sure which way they were going to fall – which way she _wanted_ them to fall.

One side was safe and the other was unknown.

“Angela, I can’t–” he cut himself off, tearing his hand from hers to bury his face in both, and she ached for its loss.

“Gabriel–” she had no idea what to say, what to _do_ , to make this situation any better. She knew what he wanted – for her to stay out of the field, but that wasn’t a conversation either of them were up for – not with emotions so raw and open, not with three bullet holes in her chest and her blood on his clothes, not with her steadfast determination that was present even now. She hated that she was trapped in this stupid bed with _stupid_ stitches when he was obviously hurting not five feet away from her.

“I won’t let you die, Angela.” The words were harsh and spoken into his hands, as if he were afraid of what he’d see should he look at her. She could expect no less a promise; after all, wasn’t that the same promise _she_ made every time she stepped into their operating rooms? The EKG machine announced her pounding heart for the world to hear. If she could risk it, she’d take the damn sensors off, but she didn’t want anyone thinking she was dying – unless death by embarrassment counted – and barging in on this.

She came to a decision all at once and sat up, biting her lip against the twinge in her chest, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Angela nearly collapsed when she slid out of the bed – only a firm grasp on the rail kept her upright, but only barely – as her head swam and, inexplicably, her knees ached. Either she made a noise or he just _chose_ that moment to look up.

“Angela, what in the– get back in bed!” He snapped anxiously, rising to his feet and reaching out carefully, as if afraid he’d break her. She was grateful for him standing – that made it so much easier to wrap her arms around him, but not too tightly because the IV was still in her arm and _ouch_ that pulled, but the ache was worth it. He stiffened, arms raised above her carefully.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” She whimpered, her cheek pressed against his chest – where she could feel his heart pounding as rapidly as her own. His arms settled around her slowly, one arm securely at her waist and the other hand on the crown of her head. “I was scared, too.”

Her eyes welled – she’d nearly _died_ – and he held her as her tears soaked his shirt.

“I’ve got you, Angela.” He whispered, carefully supporting her form. “I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until her knees buckled and threatened to collapse under her mere minutes later, with only his arm at her waist kept her upright, that he forced her back into bed, but lingering hands betrayed how loathe was to release her.

“Go back to sleep, Angela.” He told her gruffly once she was safely tucked in and he’d pulled his hands back to himself. “We can talk about it when you’re better.” He turned to sit back down, and once he was settled, she cautiously held out one hand in silent query.

“Just until I fall asleep?” She whispered when he hesitated, her eyes showing how much she needed the tactile comfort. He nodded, dragging the chair forward so their joined hands could rest comfortably at her side on the bed.

There was no more room for words – not while her chest was filled with stitches and his was soaked with tears.

\---

She was woken a second time by the doctors’ arrival, Gabriel’s hand still in hers. Once it was clear there was no real reason _not_ to, Angela had her staff turned against her. Within a few hours she was up and moving about, though her chest would always bear faint lines as a reminder of what had happened in Venezuela.

They spent another four days in South America, though it wasn’t nearly as violent as that first day. Gabriel and Angela – the air between them heavy with words unsaid – returned to the Venezuelan factory as soon as she was up for travel, so that they could help the agents left behind in protecting it until they were relieved by the military. The words were much too private to be said in the field, surrounded by practical strangers. Instead, she pretended like it didn’t bother her – that she wasn’t back in that factory, that she hadn’t been shot _three_ times (four if you counted the bullet that hadn’t pierced her back), that she _wasn’t_ slowly crumbling to pieces inside.

She was an expert at hiding herself away, though, so no one – not even Gabriel – knew how frayed she was. She dove into her work, her duty, as if she hadn’t been carried away with holes in both her body and her heart, as if her blood wasn’t – even now – staining the ground in this factory they were defending, as if she weren’t _terrified_ even as she was determined. She looked Lewis over firmly, not believing he was fine until she saw it with her own eyes. She checked over hostages that had nowhere else to go and the other agents that had been left behind in her wake, and kept herself busy until it was time to go.

Somehow, the others didn’t seem to know about her nightmares, even with the close quarters. She wasn’t sure if they knew, but Gabriel had gotten to them – or if she’d somehow, miraculously, not alerted the entire team to her nighttime misery.

\---

When they arrived back in Zürich, Jack and Ana were waiting for them. When Angela deplaned, a bag of gear hooked over one shoulder, Ana seized her and looked her over with careful eyes.

“Ana…?” The name escaped her lips hesitantly.

“We’d heard you were shot.” Jack explained as the woman’s face relaxed as she took in Angela’s unbroken form.

“We were worried.” The woman pulled her into a brief hug, and when she pulled back Angela smiled at the two of them. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just fine.” She assured them both, glancing back towards Gabriel without thinking. “Gabriel got me to Santa Marta and they put me back together.” She forced her voice to be cheery, because if she wasn’t cheery she’d cry and she didn’t need anyone else trying to pull her out of field work. It was hard enough handling Gabriel; she didn’t need the other two on her case as well.

She walked back, Ana on one side and Jack on the other, leaving Gabriel to bring up the rear. They were talking, but she barely heard the words – somehow she managed to make appropriate sounds to keep the conversation flowing. Now that she was _home_ , all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed. Angela knew she should go downstairs – to the infirmary, to make sure there wasn’t anyone needing her attention; to the lab, to see if there had been any breakthroughs, to see if they needed a push in a new direction; or even to her office, where she could read more reports or continue more research. She had a duty to those below, but that didn’t stop her from separating from the other three on the eighth floor. Citing exhaustion and the need to unpack from the last few days, she ducked off the elevator to hide herself away.

\---

Angela wasn’t surprised to find Gabriel pounding at her door almost five hours later – had it _really_ been five hours already? She was honestly surprised he hadn’t sought her out sooner, but she supposed he was taking care of his duties like she should have been. She _knew_ she should go downstairs, bury herself in work, but she’d been moving and working – anything to ignore the fact that she was _shot three times_ and all the blood and pain that came with it, to try to forget about the heavy words said in the dark, of wondering what would come next – for nearly a week, and she couldn’t manage to force herself to get off the couch that she’d collapsed on.

She just stared at him, one hand on the door, while he looked her over – as if she’d have gotten hurt since he’d seen her in the elevator only a few hours ago. She’d be more indignant if it was anyone _but_ Gabriel – he got a brief pass considering the events of the past week.

“No one had seen you in a while.” He explained finally, and she could understand how that would be concerning, seeing how he and the others often had to shepherd her to bed – or to eat. Normally she’d have been downstairs, unpacking be damned – well, to be fair, she hadn’t unpacked anything from the bag that was still in the middle of her floor – because there was work to be done. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I must have lost track of time.” Angela tried to line she used so often, but it just came out tired. He raised an eyebrow.

“For five hours? In your _room_?” His tone was gentle. She knew he could see the red tint to her eyes that clearly gave away what she had been doing in her room. She shrugged helplessly, unable to think up even a lame excuse.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The familiar phrase dropped from his lips, low and intense. Angela nodded hesitantly, but made no move to let him in as she looked down towards their feet.

“I don’t want to fight, Gabriel. Not tonight.” She knew there would be a fight – it was absolutely inevitable, with her stubbornness and his protective streak and _whatever_ it was that lay between them – but she wasn’t up to dealing with it tonight.

“That’s alright.” He wasn’t dumb – he was just as aware of the fight looming on the horizon – but even he knew better than to push his luck. “We’ll just talk.” He assured her. She nodded, a small, lifeless motion, and moved to the side to let him in.

They moved into the living area, with her curling up on one edge of the sofa and him sprawling on the other, leaving almost a full cushion between the two of them. She made no comment on his seating choice, instead shifting so that it was easier to look at him. Angela sat quietly, and he seemed content to wait for her to speak.

“Why do you do it?” She finally broke the silence, glancing over at him. He looked over at her questioningly; she didn’t blame him, seeing how there were so many things should be referring to. “Why do you go into the field?” She amended. “You know why I want – _need_ – to go, but you – you could stay here. Avoid getting hurt.” Angela tore her gaze away to look at her hands.

“Would I sound full of myself if I said it’s because I’m a better soldier than many of our agents?” She choked on a laugh, glancing towards him incredulously.

“No more than if I said I was a better doctor than most of the medical division.” She admitted after a long moment of consideration. Even if she _did_ seem to see him on the patient rosters just as often as the strike teams.

“Good – because it’s true. Not really their fault, seeing how I got enhancements courtesy of the U.S. government, but still.” Angela wasn’t shocked – she’d seen his file. It was pretty locked down – she doubted anyone in the medical division aside from Gloria, the ex-head, knew about it.

“So, since I’m better solider I’m also a better pick. I can’t be everywhere,” he gave her a pointed look that she ignored, “but I – and Jack – go wherever we will do the most good. Lead the soldiers, keep as many alive as possible, take hits that others can’t survive.” He shrugged.

“I go into the field, take more bullets than probably I should, but the mission is a success. I live – because our medical staff is excellent,” another pointed look, but one she preened under, “and so do our men.” He glanced over at her appraisingly. “Does that answer your question?” Angela nodded slowly, before leaning back in the sofa.

“I didn’t realize how much it hurts, getting shot.” She murmured, a hand resting on her chest where one of the bullets had lodged. “Strange, isn’t it? I’ve fixed up so many bullet holes, but I never _really_ knew what they were like.” Oh, she understood the abstract – pain medicine was doled out in varying doses, and she understood that they _hurt_ – but there was understanding and there’s _understanding_.

“I hope you aren’t telling me you _wanted_ to get shot.” Gabriel growled. “I could have saved us both a _lot_ of trouble.” Angela shook her head.

“No, I didn’t _want_ to get shot.” She shuddered, hand fisting over her chest before dropping. “I could have done without the experience.” She admitted. Angela had been faced with the mortality of others – over and over and _over_ again, waking _and_ sleeping – but that was the first time she’d been faced with her own. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, forcing her mind to stay in the here-and-now, away from the factory and the bullets and the _pain_ , opening them again suddenly when she felt Gabriel move to put his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you still with me?” He asked, watching her face carefully.

“I’m still here.” She whispered, giving him a small smile. “For now, at least.” He nodded and pulled his hand away, but he made no move to shift back down the sofa to where he had originated.

“Do you ever get used to it? The pain, I mean?” She glanced sidelong at him. “Because I’ve got to be honest – it was _really_ awful.”

“Getting shot isn’t supposed to be a _party_ , Angela.” He retorted, exasperated. “It’s _supposed_ to fucking hurt – you know, so that you _don’t_ let it happen again.”

“But you _just_ said that you take more bullets than you should – and you took bullets for me _on purpose_ – so answer my question.” She pointed out, crossing her arms and hoping she didn’t look like a petulant child. While she hoped to _not_ get shot again, she was realistic enough to know it would probably happen again. She also knew she was skating thin ice, too close to a conversation that she couldn’t have, but at the same time with information that she needed.

“I’m not a good judge for that, Angela,” he finally responded, glaring down at the ground instead of her, “considering those enhancements we were talking about earlier.” He turned to look at her. “You said you don’t want to fight, and I’m _trying_ to respect that – so drop this, _please_.” She bit her lip but nodded all the same – she had realized she was playing with fire.

“Sorry, Gabriel.” She murmured, pulling her knees up to wrap her arms around them. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.” He sighed.

“I know you weren’t.” He acknowledged, though his tone didn’t have her convinced. Her lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, before sobering again.

“I keep dreaming about it.” She muttered into her knees. He wanted a different topic, and if she couldn’t talk about the wounds, she’d talk about her nightmares. Angela doubted he was surprised – she certainly wasn’t. She had nightmares about everything – why wouldn’t the scariest moment in her entire life be there, too? “I – they’re really upsetting.” She whispered, glancing over towards him, asking permission with her eyes – the first time she’d _ever_ asked for permission to speak since joining Overwatch, silently or aloud.

“Whatever it is, Angela, it’s alright.” He reassured her. “I’ll listen.”

“You were there – you saved my life – in Venezuela, but in my dreams…” She hesitated; her memories of Venezuela after she was shot were scattered, but the night in the infirmary was still vivid, even now. She knew her words would upset him – they upset _her_ – and she didn’t want that.

“Tell me, Angela.” His voice was low, and he shifted on the sofa again – she wasn’t sure how, as she didn’t look. Angela bit her lip hard and stared at the loveseat across from her.

“In my dreams, you aren’t there.” She admits, like it’s some terrible crime instead of a nightmare that she has no control over. “You’re dead or you’re somewhere else, I don’t really know. You’re just absent, and I just _know_ you aren’t coming.” Angela shrugs, trying to appear blasé but only looked small, tucked up as she is. “And then I have to patch myself up, or one of the others is trying, and sometimes I survive – and other times I bleed out in agony.” She blew out a breath, closing her eyes against their sting.

“It’s stupid – but you _promised_ – just like _I_ promised – and in my dreams – it just – it _hurts_ , I’m _dying_ – and _you’re not there_.” It comes out, broken and disjointed, barely even coherent through her babbling and the sobs in her throat, but it’s there, ugly and wrong. She buries her face in her knees, hugging them tighter, because she _can’t_ look at him, _can’t_ bear to see if his eyes are still gentle or if they are harder, meaner, because he _wasn’t_ there in her dreams and what’s to say that it wasn’t an accurate reflection of reality? She dreams of the dead so often, and that’s certainly fact – why wouldn’t _this_ be too?

And though she’d been hoping, she was still surprised when his arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. Her arms loosen from the death grip on her knees and she twists, fisting hands in his shirt and pressing her face against him again – a move that almost feels natural.

“Go ahead, let it all out.” He murmurs, hand stroking her hair gently, soothingly. “I’ve got you.”

It’s some time before she’s calmed down again – but she stays where she is, one cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his lungs and heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s assessing them, but the rest of her is letting it soothe and ground her – a familiar sound against the overwhelming tides of terror and grief and panic.

“Gabriel?” She whispers thickly, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Yeah?” He rumbles back, the words echoing in her ears from above and below. She worries her lip.

“What are we doing?” It sounds stupid – childish, even – out loud, but it had been nagging her since Venezuela. His whole body – the arm around her, the chest under her – stiffens for a moment before he relaxes again.

“Well, from what I can tell,” she already _knew_ his response was going to be sarcastic, damn him, “we’re sitting on a couch in your rooms.” She rolled her eyes – a movement lost on him, since she _still_ hadn’t moved.

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.” He sighed – a big, heaving movement that made her head rise and fall with it.

“Angela, we don’t need to do this.” His tone was resigned, but she couldn’t – wouldn’t – accept that as an answer.

He’d taken the time to make sure she was settling well – and then making sure she’d take care of herself when it was obvious she would allow that to fall to the wayside. He kept her secrets – _all_ of them, even the ones that could get him what he wanted most – and didn’t make her feel ashamed of them. He’d taken _bullets_ for her and put her back together when she was broken and bleeding and dying. And now – now he was holding her so carefully that she thought she _might_ just break.

They had to fall over the edge, one way or the other.

“ _Please,_ Gabriel,” she begged, “I can’t – we can’t – keep doing this – whatever _this_ is. I feel like I’m going crazy.” And maybe she was – maybe her nightmares had finally driven her over the edge, maybe she just _didn’t_ get the whole friend thing, maybe she was imagining _everything_ – but she needed an answer.

“You’re not crazy, Angela.” He muttered, which _still_ wasn’t an answer. She shifted so that she could twist her face to glare up at him, still practically sprawled against him and unwilling – unable – to care that normally she’d be embarrassed.

“ _Gabriel_.” The word was a reproach and a plea wrapped in one, and he closed his eyes, lips moving silently for a moment before he looked down at her with resolve. _Finally_ , maybe she’d get an answer.

“I care about you, Angela – more than I probably should.” He murmured, cheeks reddening slightly. Of course he did – she knew that, or they wouldn’t even be _having_ this conversation.

“I care about you too, Gabriel,” she replied, brows furrowed. He rolled his eyes upwards briefly.

“ _Dios mío_ ; Angela, you’re _supposed_ to be the smart one,” he muttered, before his eyes returned to her face. She bristled and opened her mouth to retort, but was swiftly cut off by his lips on hers. It was a brief kiss, just long enough to get his point across and to set her cheeks aflame. He pulled back to look down at her, a small smirk playing at his lips once he took in her face.

“Understand now?” She nodded dumbly, relieved that she _wasn’t_ crazy. Really, what was there to say? She sat there, twisted in the same mildly awkward angle, long enough for him to look concerned.

“Are you alright, Angela?” She wasn’t quite sure that _alright_ was an appropriate descriptor, but it would do; she nodded, clearing her throat self-consciously and licking her lips.

“What, ah, what happens now?” They had fallen into the unknown, and she wasn’t sure where – or how – to step; the rules had changed but she hadn’t been given a copy. He laughed, a low and rich sound full of self-derision and leaned back against her sofa.

“Nothing, Angela.” He told her firmly, which only made her more confused. “Nothing changes; I don’t expect anything from you.” She just _stared_ at him – she didn’t even know where to begin, what to say, because she didn’t even know what he was _talking_ about. He didn’t expect _what_ , exactly? “ _What?_ I don’t – Angela, I’m not trying to coerce you into doing something you don’t want.” _Oh_. He thought that – her face turned scarlet, but she powered on resolutely. She was an adult and she could have an adult conversation, even if it _killed_ her.

“Gabriel, you’re not _coercing_ me into doing _anything_.” She insisted, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her on the planet. He made a sound of disbelief, and if she were sitting apart she’d throw her hands up in annoyance.

“Angela–” he began, as if he could convince her that he was _somehow_ in the wrong, but she cut him off.

“ _Gottverdammt_ , Gabriel, I’m _not_ a child. I _am_ capable of making up my own mind.” And here they were, fighting, when it was the last thing she’d wanted to do tonight. At least it wasn’t about going into the field, which was a small mercy – but she imagined they’d get there eventually.

“I never _said_ you were a child, Angela.” He growled back, meeting her glare with one of his own, his body stiff under her hands. “I just don’t want–”

“But what if it’s what _I_ want?” She demanded fiercely. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. “Please, Gabriel,” she said, confusion and longing in her voice, “what happens now?” He smiled down at her gently, shifting his weight slightly on the sofa beneath her.

“Right now, you relax and let me hold you.” He told her gently. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she wasn’t foolish enough to expect a better one. She allowed him to draw her back down against his chest, doing as he said and relaxing against him.

“This doesn’t change anything, does it? With Overwatch?” She asked, closing her eyes. “Because I’m still going to – probably – do things you don’t like, and this – whatever _this_ is – can’t affect that.” They would argue and fight – heavens knew they’d already done enough in the past and they had another argument slated for later in the week if he had his way – and she wasn’t sure how this would, could, affect this.

“Of course it doesn’t. You’re _still_ Dr. Ziegler and I’m _still_ Commander Reyes.” Angela sighed in relief. “We’re still going to argue.” He admitted with a sigh. “I still get to boss you around.” He teased and she made a face.

“Is _that_ what you’ve been doing all this time? I’d wondered.” She retorted, and he chuckled.


	11. Surprise

She didn’t want to go downstairs, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She’d had her pity party with Gabriel last night and she had responsibilities that required her attention today – even if she didn’t want to be around other people. Still, she knew that once she got focused, she’d be fine – it was just getting to that point.

So, she went down to the infirmary to make her rounds – though there wasn’t much for her to do. Gloria had it handled like always, so she merely poked her head in on the patients – one mild sprain and one broken collarbone from a training accident – before moving along to the research labs. There hadn’t been any breakthroughs, but they were steadily working towards the goals she had placed for them.

She ended up in her office, reading the various reports that had come in before turning to her own research into biotic limbs. She knew it was possible to make a person out of the limbs – that was how the omnics came about – but, aside from limbs, transplanting had never been successful. It took some time, but she managed to abandon herself within the research. It was getting very close to where she would need to start using the lab – theories would only take her so far – but she was loathe to begin any kind of testing without as many fail-safes as possible.

She’d heard the door open and shut behind her, but she didn’t turn around. Angela had no idea what time it was, but she was willing to bet the person behind her was here to drag her away. She was in the middle of a thought, and if she didn’t jot it all down she’d probably never remember it all.

“Just a minute.” Angela called over her shoulder, scribbling furiously. Whomever it was waited patiently by the door – which told her it was _probably_ Ana. Jack would have taken a seat or walked over to look at her notes – not that he could read them, seeing how they were in German – and Gabriel would have just started talking anyway, because he figured that it would get her moving faster. Angela finished the notes a few minutes later and turned around. As expected, Ana was leaning against the door, the very picture of patience. Angela supposed that, as a sniper, she would need to be. She quickly glanced up at the clock.

“Hello, Ana.” She told the woman, seeing it was near lunchtime. Angela grabbed her medical coat and rose dutifully.

“Angela, dear, how are you feeling?” Ana asked her as she rounded her desk, looking her face over – it seemed everyone was worried about her. She didn’t – quite – blame them, seeing how she _was_ recently shot. 

“I’m just fine, Ana. Fully healed with barely a scar.” The doctor assured her; it was a mild, white lie considering she had three small lines where the stiches had been, but she didn’t need to know that. “A bit behind on my research, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” It didn’t help that she’d had trouble focusing for the first hour, but she’d manage. She always did. Ana shook her head and remained against the door.

“I know you’re _physically_ fine, Angela.” Her dark eyes seemed to see right through Angela. “But you were shot, and I know that’s traumatic. I’ve seen it affect even the strongest soldier – and you, darling, are not a soldier.” The words were gentle even as they were direct. Angela sighed and leaned back against her desk. Apparently she was to be held hostage in her own office.

“You may have forgotten, Ana, but I deal with catastrophic trauma relatively often – including traveling for hours to handle it.” Angela forced her tone to be light.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to or confide in Ana – on the contrary, she thought that the woman would be a great source of comfort and wisdom. She just didn’t trust that her thoughts and feelings wouldn’t get back to Jack – because she knew that, while she was well-meaning, Ana would give Jack whatever information she thought he needed to make decisions concerning Overwatch, and her. Ana had Jack’s back above all else – as was only appropriate. Angela was lucky that Gabriel hadn’t spilled all her secrets – though maybe they were just _really_ good at hiding their knowledge.

“I somehow doubt that surgery compares to being shot in the field.” Ana replied dryly, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, there is _substantially_ less pain involved for me in surgery, yes.” Angela agreed. The doctor forced her hands to remain at her sides on the desk instead of allowing them to reach up to touch the places that the bullets had pierced her chest. “I swear, Ana, that I am just fine. I’m dealing with it.”

“You know, you don’t have to ‘deal with it’ – as you put it – alone.” Ana told her kindly, and Angela bit her tongue before she said something she wasn’t ready to discuss.

“I talked to Gabriel.” Angela admitted after a long silence, unable to think of a pat excuse or explanation to get out of this. She sped past it, forcing herself to keep looking up at Ana instead of away, as if she had something to hide. “You know, since he was there and all.”

“Ah, I see.” Ana said, fixing Angela with a knowing look – and the blonde couldn’t help but think that she _did_ see.

“So, I’m _fine_.” The blonde repeated, squirming slightly under Ana’s gaze. “Though, I really do appreciate your concern.” She smiled, trying to ignore the heat that had crept to her cheeks. The older woman nodded slowly after searching Angela’s face – for what, the woman wasn’t sure, but she was desperately hoping Ana wasn’t finding anything Angela still wanted hidden.

It wasn’t like she was ashamed of anything – more like she didn’t want to deal with the teasing and _looks_.

“You can always come to me, if you want to talk.” Ana told her sincerely. Angela smiled beatifically at the woman.

“I know that. You’re too good to me.” The older woman scoffed and moved away from the door so they could leave.

“Nonsense.”

\---

As usual, she was working late into the night when Gabriel barged into her office. Unfortunately, she’d barely gotten anything done – after Ana left her in the canteen she’d been stopped by McCree. He hadn’t been kicked out – Gabriel was right on that count. The cowboy had wanted to see for himself that she ‘hadn’t kicked th’ bucket’ as he so kindly put it. Once she finally got back to her office she’d struggled to get refocused and then Jack had dragged her to dinner. It seemed _everyone_ was going to bother her today, as if they couldn’t believe she was still breathing if they didn’t see her every six-to-eight hours. She _had_ planned to be in the lab tomorrow, but at this rate her experimentation would have to be pushed to the day after.

“Angela, go to bed.” He said, coming to loom over her with arms crossed. Once, the action would have unnerved her, but now she just glanced up – one eyebrow quirked – before looking back to the paper before her.

“I’m nearly done, Gabriel.” She told him breezily; once she’d gotten past her rut a few hours ago, she found it easy to throw herself back into her work. She just wished she’d been given another hour or two before he came to remind her of reality.

“You’re _always_ ‘nearly done’, Angela. It’s late and you need to sleep.” He told her firmly. The medical professional in her knew he was right – sleep was important to keep a person healthy, just like food was – but it didn’t stop her from suppressing the needs. It didn’t help that she had dreams – nightmares – to avoid. Still, she glanced past him briefly to look at the clock.

“It’s not even one thirty yet.” She said, as if that excused anything. He made an incredulous sound, clearly disagreeing with her sentiment.

“Do you even _hear_ yourself? It’s after midnight; you should be _asleep_.” She paused, hand poised over the paper, before forcing herself to continue working. At least she could get these last thoughts down before they disappeared.

“You know why I work late.” Angela told him tiredly, before finishing the notes and setting the pencil aside, knowing that – one way or the other – she was done with this for the evening.

“Working yourself to exhaustion isn’t the answer, Angela.” She closed her eyes at his tone, before looking up with a sigh. Were they really going to do this now?

“Isn’t it? You’ve seen what I’ve done in just a years’ worth of time.” She kept her tone calm, reasonable; _she_ wasn’t the one looking for a fight, after all. “Besides, we both know that’s not why you’re angry with me.” She gestured wordlessly to the chair at his side; he might as well be comfortable if he was going to yell at her.

“I don’t want you in the field.” His words were _almost_ an order – a Commander to his subordinate – as he dropped unceremoniously into the seat.

“I seem to remember getting the clearance to do just that.” Angela responded easily. He couldn’t _force_ her into staying out of the field – not without Jack, at the least, backing him. She had no doubt that he _could_ manage it – but it would take some convincing on his part unless, of course, he broke his promises to her. Fortunately, she’d never known him to break his word. “I go, and will _continue_ to go, wherever I am needed, _whenever_ I am needed. Sometimes it’s an operating room in another country – other times it will be onto a field of bullets.”

“Are you _that_ eager to get shot again?” He demanded, and despite herself she winced. She clutched the arms of the chair tightly to keep her hands from raising to touch her chest where the bullets had punched through. She saw his eyes flicker down to her chest, a look so clinical she knew that he could only see the red that had so recently stained it, before rising to her face again.

“You _know_ I’m not.” The words were quiet and a little shaky, belying nerves and fear of a repeat of Venezuela. She really, truly did _not_ want to get shot again. She cleared her throat. “But I am willing to risk it, just as you are.” The conviction – her duty – made the words stronger, more confident. If it meant she could save someone that might otherwise die, she would willingly rush into combat – even if she had to take a bullet or two to do it, horrible though that may be. She had to make some modifications to the Valkyrie suit – after she fixed it, of course, she needed to remember to do that – so that she could sustain a few bullets and still do her work, but she wouldn’t tell _him_ that. That’d just make him angrier.

“You don’t _need_ to risk it – there are plenty of medics.” He insisted, voice raising. “Let them do their jobs.”

“It’s my job, too.” He scoffed, a harsh, scornful sound, but she pressed on. “When you hired me, _you_ told me I could see patients in whatever capacity _I_ chose – or were those empty words?” Angela challenged, releasing her death grip on the chair to cross her arms.

“We both know that I never, _we_ never, meant for you to see combat – not even then.” He growled at her. “I seem to remember you agreeing to that, once.” She knew he was right, just as she was right, and she met his angry gaze with a steely look for a long moment, before glancing away to concede the point.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still my job _now_.” Angela insisted after a brief pause. “I’ve got the Valkyrie suit – which we _both_ know is a huge asset – and it’s tailored to _me_.” Changing the suit at this point would be nearly as expensive as the research had been – and while Overwatch had funds, no one could afford to just _throw_ away money like that.

“I’m sure we can find another medic your size to pilot it.” Gabriel informed her, and it was her turn to scoff.

“Of all the medics that we have, _maybe_ two could fit in it – again it’s _tailored_ to me, specifically – and neither of them are cleared for combat.” Most of the medics who would be able to fit into the suit never saw the combat it was built for, either due to their skills or disposition in the field. The ones that _did_ see combat were generally men – and by definition would not fit a suit tailored to her.

“Of _course_ you would say that. It’s not like you’re unbiased.” He accused, and her eyes flashed with real anger for the first time in this conversation.

“I apologize. I must have forgotten that you are so _knowledgeable_ about the limitations of _my_ staff.” Her words were hard and brittle. “How could I forget that I was hired on to agree with everything my _Commander_ tells me?” She leaned forward to point at him, fierce and truly angry now. “Do not presume that I would _ever_ misappropriate my staff – that I want to go into the field simply out of _pride_. I would _never_ jeopardize lives just so that _I_ could have glory.”

“Angela, I didn’t mean–” he started, hands raised in surrender – or apology – but she cut him off, not ready to hear it.

“Didn’t mean _what_ , exactly? That I am too _vain_ to stand aside when necessary? That I don’t _tirelessly_ pour through reports and journals to make sure my staff – my entire _division_ – is equipped with the best Overwatch can afford, the best _I_ can create? That I don’t work _every day_ to make sure you and Jack and Ana and all of our agents come home alive? That I am incompetent or unprofessional when it comes to field work?” The words were dangerous, her entire form tense as she glared across the desk at him. He stared at her, at a loss for words, unprepared for her anger to eclipse his own.

“I’m sorry.” He offered finally, and it mollified her a little. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” she said tightly, “you should not have.” They sat in a tense silence, her glare unrelenting as he tried to figure out what to say to bring her temper down. She herself knew she was inordinately angry, that he didn’t _really_ mean it, and leaned back to run a hand over her face.

“Is it so terrible that I want you safe, Angela?” He asked her eventually, words quiet as he glanced to the side, and she felt a pang of guilt cut through the remnants of her anger – but tried to shove it aside. “You’d think getting shot would have convinced you to stay out of harm’s way.”

“I’ll just have to be quicker next time, won’t I?” She countered with a shaky smile. There had been no way to outrun those bullets – no way ‘quicker’ would have saved her in the factory – but she could be flippant about it. It was how she had to be about that trauma, here in the light, the waking world.

“There shouldn’t _be_ a next time!” He snapped back, and she frowned, all humor – false though it may be – gone.

“Do you think I enjoy watching _you_ go, knowing there’s a high probability you’ll be coming back on a gurney because _you_ took a bullet for someone else _again_? That I _want_ to put you back together every time you leave?” She demanded. Two could play this game. “That I’m not terrified – _terrified_ – that _this_ time is the time I fail, that you _won’t_ come back off that table?” Real emotion filled her words, proving she wasn’t as aloof as she tried to appear – not that he didn’t already know that. Angela fixed him with a look.

“I have _never_ asked you to remain behind – never asked _anything_ of you, of _any_ of you, save that you come home alive, that you bring our agents home.” She leaned back into her chair. “I would ask that you show me the same respect.” It was clear he didn’t know what to say to that; there was nothing he _could_ say that wasn’t hypocritical at best.

“You don’t have to go with me.” The words hurt her chest, phantom pulsing pains in those three little lines that had changed everything and yet changed nothing, even as she said them, but she managed to get them past her lips. “I know,” she licked her lips, “I know you don’t want to see me hurt. Ana or Jack can–”

“ _No_.” He shut down her words quickly. “If you’re going into the field, I’m going with you.” There was a brief pause, before he sighed in resignation. “I won’t – _can’t_ – stop you, since you seem hellbent on going, but I can make sure you get home safely.” She smiled, biting her tongue on a retort; it wouldn’t do to instigate him when he’d conceded defeat.

“Good.” She said instead, getting to her feet. “I suppose I should turn in, then.” She’d have to finish her writing tomorrow – and fix the Valkyrie suit while she was at it. The lab could wait for another day. Angela moved to the door, Gabriel following at her heels.

“I understand that you don’t like this.” Angela told him as they waited for the elevator. “But I’m working to make it safer every day.” Well, not _every_ day – she was also working on her biotic limb research – but she _was_ working on it.

“I know you are.” Then the doors slid open and he stepped inside, selecting the button for the eighth floor. After a moments’ hesitation, Angela followed suit. She considered going to her normal spot against the right wall, but, well – they were _something_ , weren’t they? Instead, she entered and stood next to him, her left arm against his right.

She felt his eyes on her, but she didn’t glance up or back as the elevator doors slid shut. Angela resisted the urge to fidget, to move away, and was rewarded by his arm moving to slide around her shoulders. She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it, and leaned against his side.

“Are you still angry?” Angela asked, just before they reached the eighth floor. She wasn’t – despite the tirade there in the middle, she was actually rather pleased – but she knew that he’d lost their on-going battle, at least for now, and she wasn’t sure how he would take it.

“No.” He said after a long moment of consideration. “Worried is a better word for it, but I’ll deal with it.” Gabriel propelled her out of the elevator once the doors opened, gently directing her towards her room.

Once they were outside her room, she pivoted and wrapped her arms around his middle for a brief hug. It was the only peace offering she could give him, poor though it may be.

“I _am_ sorry, you know.” Angela confessed, the words muffled slightly by the cloth and muscle between the two of them. She felt him sigh, before moving to hold her gently.

“I know.” He didn’t say it was alright, and she didn’t expect him to. She knew that, to him, it _wasn’t_ alright. There was nothing she could do to fix that, nothing aside from staying home – but she couldn’t do that, not even for him.

So, she stepped back to turn and open her door. Gabriel reached out to touch her shoulder, and she jumped a little. She didn’t know why she was suddenly nervous; she’d been fine up until she’d pulled away. Gabriel chuckled, a soft sound that felt like a victory in itself after their argument, and leaned down to murmur in her ear.

“Relax, Angela. I’m not going to bite you.” She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her – or do anything she didn’t want, but she wasn’t sure what she _did_ want – at least, not the specifics – and she didn’t know if she could just _ask_ him. There was no one _to_ ask; sure, she could go to Ana or Jack, but the thought alone made her want to die of embarrassment.

“I know.” She muttered back, pushing the door open and turning slightly so she could look at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Angela wasn’t sure if that would be the case; before last night she could count on seeing him once or twice a week, but now? She wasn’t even sure where up was sometimes.

“Of course.” He told her, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind an ear, fingers brushing her cheek lightly, before stepping back. “Good night, Angela.”

“Good night.” She whispered, closing the door between them.

\---

It had taken a few weeks of cajoling, but finally she’d managed to convince Jack to let her in on at least _some_ of their meetings. So, she found herself with the other three, staring in mild horror at the screens before them.

“It’s heading for Hamburg, Germany.” Jack explained to the other three, whose eyes were looking at the screens, which showed some kind of rocket travelling towards Earths’ surface. “It should land in about twenty-six hours; we’ll have a more accurate landing zone in just under ten hours. We need to be in place, in cases this is an attack by the gorillas of Horizon.” Everyone knew about the experiments gone wrong in the lunar base, but no one had expected anything to come from space – especially when the omnics were a much more pressing concern.

“What if it _isn’t_ an attack?” Angela asked carefully, arms crossed as she watched the screens. There was no telling what was aboard that ship – it could be explosives or a peace offering.

“Need I remind you, Angela, that the gorillas murdered the scientists of Horizon?” Jack responded. “There is no reason to believe this _isn’t_ an attack.” Angela tore her gaze away from the screens to _look_ at the blonde.

“Yes, but in the _extremely unlikely_ event that this isn’t an attack, what are we going to do?” She asked again.

“If it’s not an attack, we’ll handle it accordingly.” Gabriel rumbled from her left. “As long as we don’t shoot first, it shouldn’t be _that_ hard to manage.” Jack nodded his agreement.

“It doesn’t look like it could contain more than two of those gorillas.” Ana interrupted, still looking at the screen. “So, at worst, we’ll be dealing with two of them.” Angela turned to the table, pulling up the Horizon research notes that Overwatch had obtained from Luchneg Interstellar before all communication had been lost.

“If it _is_ an attack,” Angela said finally, “you’d better send plenty of men – two of those gorillas, left unchecked, could do an extreme amount of damage.” Her eyes found the map. “You’ll want to evacuate the area of civilians of course, just in case.” She doubted that she needed to tell _them_ that, but it made her feel better all the same.

“We’ll take care of it, Angela.” Jack agreed. “Just in case things _do_ go south,” he gave her a pointed look in return, clearly believing that would be the case, “I want to send three medics.” Angela raised an eyebrow – it wasn’t often he requested multiple people from her outside of rescue missions. “If there’s two gorillas on that thing – and there’s no reason to think there isn’t – do you think one person could keep up with the damage it could cause?” Well, when he put it that way, it did sound reasonable didn’t it?

While they started discussing how many agents, and which, they should send, she opened her personnel files to pick her contributions. They were still discussing dispositions when she interrupted them.

“I will send Daigneau – but you’d better get him on a plane now, since he’s in Algeria – as well as Remington and myself.” She leaned back against the table, daring any of them to challenge her right to go.

“Angela, we haven’t decided if one of us is going on this mission.” Ana responded carefully, and Angela shot her an incredulous look.

“You mean to tell me that we might be under attack by genetically enhanced gorillas _from_ _space_ and not _one_ of our Commanders are intending to be there? I’m shocked.” Gabriel smothered a laugh, and she crossed her arms. “All _three_ of you went out for Bianchi; I’m sure one of you will rise to the occasion now.” Angela pushed herself off the table. “I’m going to get ready; let me know when we leave.”

The doctor glanced at Gabriel briefly, who gave her a resigned nod, before leaving the room. One way or another, the two of them would be going to meet the rocket. Angela paged Remington on her communicator as she stepped off the elevator into the basement, heading towards her office.

“Remington.” The man answered, his face coming into focus.

“Get ready. We’re heading to Germany.” Angela told him; she wished they knew when they were leaving to give him a better order, but they hadn’t even known who they were sending when she’d walked out of the room.

“Anything specific I should prepare for?” The man asked as she closed her office door behind her, making it easier to speak frankly – though she couldn’t say the same for where he was. She wasn’t sure that the others wanted the fact that gorillas may be coming to be advertised.

“There’s a high possibility of major casualties. The mission has rated three medics – just in case.” His eyes widened briefly, but he nodded.

“I understand, doctor. I will prepare.” They disconnected, and she reached out to Daigneau.

“What do I owe the pleasure, doctor?” Daigneau asked.

“Get your gear; you’re heading to Germany.”

\---

The rocket had just landed and they were in position. Agents had guns in hand, cautiously pointed towards the rocket – though Gabriel had made it clear that no one was to fire unless there was an _obvious_ , _overt_ danger. Gabriel, guns holstered, was standing in line with the door – was door the right word? She wasn’t really sure what to call it – to the rocket, with her in her Valkyrie suit, staff in hand, a step behind him.

He hadn’t been very pleased with her choice of position, but she’d made her case easily – and firmly. She had spent almost every minute of the last twenty-five hours and seventeen minutes (she’d kept track) studying the gorillas of Horizon for _anything_ that might give them an edge. She was the best advisor he could have, whether he liked it or not

The door swung open with a hiss, and a gorilla that, on all fours, stood slightly taller than she was exited the craft. Absurdly, it was wearing a pair of glasses.

“Uh… hi there.” The creature said after a long, awkward silence, raising one hand to rub the back of its head. There was a shift among the agents as it moved, and the gorilla froze before putting it back down. It was very clear the gorilla wasn’t going to make the first move after a long, tense silence passed, with each side eying the other warily.

Discretely, Angela kicked Gabriel – who turned his head just enough to glare at her without losing sight of the gorilla. She nodded towards the gorilla; they couldn’t stay here all day just staring at each other. He was in charge, so he needed to talk to it – no matter how ridiculous the thought of talking to a gorilla was.

“Do you have a name?” Gabriel finally demanded – and Angela rolled her eyes; he definitely could use some lessons in tact.

“I am Winston.” The gorilla declared after a moments’ hesitation; Angela couldn’t recall reading about a subject named Winston, but then again most had been referred to by their specimen number in the reports. She glanced over his clothing – was that the right word? – trying to get a hint of which specimen they were dealing with. Knowing which one was before them would be a great help in this conversation.

“And why, ‘Winston’, are you here?” Gabriel continued, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.

“I didn’t agree with the others – erm, the other gorillas that is – and I left.” Angela didn’t have to see Gabriel’s face to see the look of disbelief. She could hear murmurs from the agents around them. Angela reached out to touch Gabriel’s elbow, and he turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He whispered, clearly not impressed that she was interrupting – even though that was _exactly_ why she was standing at his flank.

“Ask him what his specimen designation was.” Angela whispered back, glancing towards the gorilla briefly.

“What does that even matter?” He demanded incredulously.

“He might _actually_ be friendly; there were a small number of specimens that weren’t hostile before the attack.” She explained, a touch of exasperation in her voice. He didn’t look convinced. “If you don’t ask, I will.”

“ _Fine_.” He sighed, before returning his full attention to the gorilla that was standing patiently. Raising his voice, Gabriel called out to him again. “What was your, er, specimen designation, ‘Winston’?” He stumbled over the words; Angela sighed and shook her head. The gorilla looked surprised.

“I was specimen 28. Dr. Harold Winston was my caretaker.” Angela’s mind raced, considering the gorilla before her. Gabriel glanced back at her, trying to see if she had any further information for him. She worried her lip.

“I think he’s friendly.” She offered. Dr. Harold Winston was a familiar name in the logs and journals she had read, and she was _pretty_ sure he’d been in charge of Specimen 28 as the gorilla – Winston – said.

“I need more than an ‘ _I think_ ’.” He told her, and she spread her hands in front of her.

“What do you want from me? Without observation, we can’t determine _anything_.” She retorted. “I don’t think he’ll harm anyone, but the gene therapy caused nearly all the other subjects to become hostile.” Gabriel turned back to the gorilla again.

“Winston, I am Commander Reyes of Overwatch.” The gorilla did not look impressed. “We are going to take you into our custody. Once we have determined that you are not a threat, we will grant you your freedom.” Angela wondered, suddenly, where they were going to put him. She supposed, with some shifting, she could get one of the observation rooms properly suited for a… creature of his size.

“Very well, Commander.” The gorilla agreed.

\---

“You will _not_ be alone in a room with that gorilla.” Gabriel ordered her. She’d called ahead to Zürich, and her researchers had managed to clear out their equipment from one of the observation rooms and get a large bed installed. Now, Winston was in the room with four armed guards just outside, and she wanted to get started on the testing necessary to keep their subject from becoming unstable. They had the research from Dr. Winston, but it had been some time since his passing.

Since she had decided to be the doctor to interact directly with Winston, she had left her Valkyrie suit on. It wouldn’t give her much protection, should the gorilla turn on her, but it was more than the nothing the rest of her staff had. Besides that, albeit small, protection, she also had the authority to speak and make decisions immediately as they became necessary.

“The last time I checked, _I_ oversee the research and medical division.” Angela replied idly, glancing down at the clipboard in her hand briefly, before looking back up at him. “That means you don’t get to decide what I do with the gorilla.”

“Do I need to remind you that he’s a prisoner, Angela?” Gabriel demanded. In fairness, she had no purview over prisoners – except for their medical care, which she had demanded shortly after she had met McCree – but this one had a glaring exception. If they didn’t get the proper tests and treatments in progress, Winston could become unstable and become _exactly_ the kind of problem they were trying to avoid.

“He’s only a prisoner until the research division determines that he’s stable. Since, again, _I_ lead the research division, _you_ don’t get a say in what I do with the gorilla.” She made to walk around him – she needed to get started on Winstons’ testing.

_“Angela.”_ He grabbed her by the shoulders, physically stopping her. The blonde glanced up, surprised. “Do you have any idea what it can do to you?”

“Well, a regular silverback gorilla is estimated to be about ten to twelve times stronger than a human – with his gene therapy, I imagine _he’s_ a bit stronger than that.” She’d done some quick reading, once it had become obvious to her that Winston was coming back as a prisoner instead of as a corpse. “That being said, I imagine he’s capable of quite a bit of damage – though he hasn’t shown any signs of being violent in the past three hours.” Her words were perfectly professional. Any sign of fear or misgiving – or even just mild hesitation – and Gabriel would keep her out of that room if he had to tie her down.

Angela wasn’t dumb. She knew the gorilla could _probably_ tear her to pieces in less time than it would take to subdue him. However, she truly didn’t believe he posed a threat – currently. Taking in Dr. Winstons’ notes on his particular case, she felt confident she would walk back out of that room in one piece. But, the longer they waited, the more likely that Winston would become unstable.

“At least take me, a guard, _somebody_ else with you, someone that has a better gun than your blaster.” His words reminded her of the uncomfortable weight at her hip; she wasn’t foolish enough to walk in unarmed, but even she knew that it would do next to nothing against an enraged gorilla.

“I don’t need him anxious; it will skew the results.” Angela told him patiently for the _third_ time. “You can wait in the hallways with the four _other_ armed guards.” She stepped forward, into his personal space, and pressed her forehead against his chest, her free hand gripping his shirt at his back. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be alright.” His arms went around her, one above and the other below her wings.

“You had better be.” She smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. A throat cleared behind her and she jumped. Angela whirled, and it was a testament to his skills and reflexes that Gabriel avoided getting bludgeoned with her wings. Ana was standing in the hall, watching them bemusedly with one eyebrow quirked, and Angela’s cheeks colored.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” The older woman broke the silence cheerfully, and Angela shook her head. She jumped again when Gabriel put his hand at the small of her back, fingers curling around one of her hips, but she didn’t move away. “Good. I was coming to see how things were going with our guest.” The blonde doctor, cheeks still red, cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I was, uhm, just heading there Ana. You’re welcome to wait with Gabriel in the hall while I handle his interview and do some tests.” She offered, and, while she felt the man at her side tense at the reminder, he didn’t contradict her. Ana nodded, gently grabbing Angela’s arm as she passed to pull the woman along; Angela glanced back worriedly at Gabriel. He was no help – he just held his hands up and followed a few steps afterwards.

“So, you and Gabriel, hmm?” Ana murmured conspiratorially, tucking her arm in the doctors’.

“You, ah,” Angela coughed uncomfortably, “you’re going to tell Jack, aren’t you?” She said, defeated.

“Probably,” Ana agreed, “but not right now.” They continued the walk, Angela squirming in the silence. Just before they reached the door to Winston’s room, Ana broke the silence again. “We will talk about this later. For now, you will be careful.” The doctor nodded, resigned, before wiping her hands down her front self-consciously. She grabbed a tray containing various implements she would need from a nearby counter, then allowed Ana to open the door for her.

Her eyes immediately found Winston – it was impossible not to. Ana closed the door behind her as he turned to look at her.

“Hello, Winston.” She greeted, not moving from her spot at the door. “My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler.” She watched him take in her outfit, eyes lingering briefly on the gun at her side, before returning to her face.

“Hello, doctor.” He greeted.

“I feel obligated to tell you, Winston, that there are armed guards in the hallway, and, as you can see, I am also armed.” He wouldn't know that her aim was pretty terrible under the best of circumstances. She plastered a gentle smile on her face. “I am not saying this to threaten you, but to warn you. Tensions are high, as you may understand.”

“I understand, doctor.” Winston heaved a great sigh. “The others of my kind have done terrible things, but I had no part in it.” He assured her, leaning back to sit on the bed – there were no chairs in the room, mostly because they had nothing else he could sit on. Angela nodded, finally moving into the room. She set the tray on the bed – there weren’t any other surfaces within – and turned to look at him.

“I’m sure you are familiar with some of these tools.” Angela said, turning with a tourniquet in both hands. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

\---

She left the room, various specimens in containers on the tray. As expected, there were still six people in the hallway. She turned to her left, breezing past them to head towards the research labs. Angela heard footsteps following, but she didn’t look to see whether it was Ana or Gabriel. Instead, she strode into the lab and reassigned two technicians to process the samples and to arrange someone to take Winston food. Without looking back, she made her way to her office, only looking up when she had the door open.

Though she hadn’t been completely sure, she wasn’t surprised to see it was Ana. She had no idea where Gabriel had gotten to, but she wished he hadn’t abandoned her to this conversation. Not that it would make this conversation any _less_ awkward, but it would make her feel better. Angela sighed and started stripping off her Valkyrie suit to reveal the black catsuit underneath.

“Yes, Ana?” She asked innocently, as the other woman closed the door. She fooled neither of them; they both knew why Ana had followed her.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Ana asked, lowering herself into a chair.

“Not particularly, no.” Angela shot Ana a pointed look. “But if you’re referring to Gabriel, then there’s nothing to tell.”

“What I saw didn’t look like ‘nothing’, Angela.” The woman relaxed back in her chair as Angela slid the suit onto its’ stand, looking as if they were talking about the weather. Angela sighed and dropped into her chair.

“I didn’t say it was _nothing.”_ Whatever was between her and Gabriel, that was the absolute _last_ word she’d use. “I said there was nothing to _tell.”_ And there wasn’t. It had barely been three weeks since that night in her rooms.

“Is that so?” Ana considered the blonde for a long moment, before sighing. “Are you at least being careful?” Angela felt her face heat up – even though she was a doctor and _damn_ it she could talk about sex.

“I – _We_ – haven’t–” she broke off, trying to compose herself. “We’re not sleeping together.” She managed to get out in a rush. Was this what it was like to have a concerned mother? This _sucked._ Ana raised an eyebrow. “ _We’re not_.” The blonde insisted.

“I see.” Ana looked the doctor over, taking in her embarrassment and discomfort, before nodding once, her face turning serious. “Don’t do anything you’d regret, darling. And for goodness sake, don’t let him bully you into doing anything you’d rather not.” Angela gave the sniper an incredulous look.

“Have you _ever_ heard us argue? If anyone is bullying _anyone,_ it’s me.” Ana barked out a laugh, but she couldn’t disagree. “I’ll be fine, Ana.” At least, she hoped she would be. “He wouldn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t want, but I appreciate your concern.”

“If you need anything,” Ana started, rising, “you can always come to me. Even about Gabriel.” Ana grabbed the doorknob and glanced back. _“Especially_ about Gabriel.” Angela laughed, but stopped the woman before she left.

“Are you _really_ going to tell Jack?” The older woman nodded, looking somewhat apologetic. She’d known it was a long shot, but Angela was still… uncomfortable. Not that it mattered.

“I know how private you are, but we can’t have a Commander and our medical head… _together_ and _not_ tell Jack.” She shrugged helplessly. “If it were anyone but Gabriel, Angela, I could keep it under my hat.” Angela ran her hands over her face.

“I understand.” And she did, even if it sucked. She had known it would come out eventually, but to have it out of her hands was uncomfortable. “Good night, Ana.” The woman let herself out.

Angela sighed, staring at the door for a long moment before glancing around her office. She briefly considered doing research, but she knew without even attempting that she’d be too distracted. It was too late to consider going to get food – not that she was hungry anyway after that conversation – but too early to consider going to bed. She got up with a sigh, tugging on her medical coat absently – maybe she could burn off some steam in the gun range – and pulled open the door to find Gabriel on the other side. She crossed her arms and just _looked_ at him.

“What?” He demanded.

“You _abandoned_ me to Ana.” She accused, pointing a finger at his chest to emphasize her point.

“You survived, didn’t you?” He retorted, but he looked sheepish.

“She’s telling Jack.” Angela sighed, dropping her arms. He didn’t even look surprised.

“I know.” He ran a hand over his head. “I should go talk to him, too.” Angela nodded. She knew that if she didn’t go speak to Jack, he’d just come to her – but that didn’t mean she was going to go seek him out. She’d let the other two talk to the blonde Commander, and when he was ready she’d deal with it then. “Where were you heading?” He asked, moving to the side to let her leave.

“I’m not sure.” She admitted, closing the office. “I thought I’d go practice in the range; for _some_ reason I can’t focus on research.” She headed towards the elevator, and he followed behind her.

“I can’t imagine why.” Gabriel deadpanned back, and she leaned against him as they waited for the elevator.


	12. Conflict

She was in the lab, helping her researchers with processing the samples she’d gotten from Winston the day before. Everything was looking as well as they could be, though she knew it would be weeks more at least before the gorilla would be released from his confinement – just in case. While she wanted to make sure he was healthy, she also wanted to restart his gene therapy as quickly as possible – but that required a base of information they didn’t yet possess.

“Dr. Ziegler.” The woman sighed, but didn’t turn around from her work. She hadn’t heard his approach, but she wasn’t surprised that he was here. Even though she was surrounded by witnesses, even though she _knew_ he’d wait her out – or worse, just start talking – she briefly considered ignoring him.

Resigned, she turned to look at Jack standing in the middle of her lab, as different as a robin among crows and gathering just as much attention.

“Hello, Commander.” She considered him for a moment. “They’ve spoken to you, then?”

“You know they did.” Angela nodded. She’d avoided going to speak to Jack, instead forcing him to come to her; it wasn’t as if she had done anything _wrong_. It hadn’t delayed the inevitable – in fact, he’d started this _much_ more publicly than she cared for. Of course, after working together for more than a year, he would know she’d be stubborn enough to wait him out – so he called her bluff.

Carefully, she put aside the test tubes before pulling off gloves and goggles. As quickly as she could, she had the work passed off to one of the researchers; while she didn’t want to make Jack wait any longer than necessary – again, he might just _start_ – she couldn’t just leave her work open on a table for contamination.

“We can talk in my office.” She told him before heading for the exit, the Commander hot on her heels. Fortunately, the trip was short, and soon he was closing the door behind him. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Jack.” She offered, resignation in her voice as she sat in her chair, and waited in silence for the shoe to drop.

“I’ll cut to the chase, Angela.” Jack fixed her with a pointed look. “I can’t send you into the field with Gabriel again.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “It’s not safe for anyone – you, him, or our agents.”

“I am _fully_ capable of doing my job, regardless of who I am… _involved_ with.” Angela snapped. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, lets say I send you out with Gabriel,” he offered, his tone perfectly agreeable, damn him, “and he gets shot.” He gave her a piercing look. “What do _you_ think would happen?” She paled at the thought, then colored – though whether it was from anger or shame even she couldn’t tell.

“I would give him medical treatment – just like anyone else.” Angela retorted, though her words _weren’t_ quite as sure. She remembered, just as Jack surely did, what happened in Liechtenstein – concussion or no, it wasn’t the way a combat medic should act, how _she_ should act. “It’s my job to worry about the health of the agents in my care.”

“Fine. What about if you get shot?” Jack countered. Before she could even formulate a response, he was continuing. “When you _did_ get shot, Angela, Gabriel left that factory – and the others under his protection – to make sure you would be safe.” Angela colored, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap, which were clasped so tight it was nearly painful. She’d had no say in who had travelled with her, and she _had_ been surprised when she’d woken to see him – but while it was a comfort to her, it shouldn’t have happened and she knew it. “He should have sent another with you and remained behind, but he _didn’t_.”

“Angela,” Jack’s voice was gentle now, “we can’t afford for _either_ of you to be distracted with the other on the field.” Angela squirmed slightly, because she _knew_ he was right, damn him, but that didn’t make the revelation any less upsetting. “It’ll get someone – an agent or one of you – killed. It’s happened before.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the silent challenge – _do you want that to happen?_ – to hang in the air between them.

They both knew that she would do anything – _anything_ – to keep their people safe.

“Ana and I are perfectly capable of watching out for you.” He reassured her after the silence became heavy, as if _that_ was the problem. She knew they would keep her safe, just as Gabriel had – but that wasn’t the point, because they _weren’t him_. Gabriel knew about her nightmares and how stubborn she could get under stress, which the others would surely figure out how to deal with – if Gabriel didn’t tell them himself out of some attempt to help them protect her – but the fact of the matter was that she just felt _safer_ with Gabriel at her back.

He’d been there from the first, after all.

“Of course you are.” She agreed, never having doubted that for a second. Angela leaned back in her seat with an exhale to stare at the ceiling, as if it were any more riveting than her hands. She _knew_ that Gabriel would do something stupid – like step between her and a bullet – again. She probably would do something stupid too; she wasn’t too proud to admit it – at least to herself. He’d ordered her to stay back in Venezuela, and she couldn’t say for sure if he’d have done the same with another medic. Yes, he _had_ made sure the _immediate_ hostiles were down, but she doubted he had waited much longer than that. He might – _would_ – get distracted, and _that_ could get him – her, someone else – killed, and she _couldn’t_ live with that.

She wouldn’t.

Her mind couldn’t help but fly to that night in the hospital room. He’d even _admitted_ that he was trying to keep her safe – which she had already known – but she knew realistically that couldn’t happen when bullets were flying. He was one of two Commanders, one of the leaders of Overwatch, and he had a duty to more than just her. He couldn’t be trying to keep her out of the line of fire – even if that meant using himself as a shield – when others were counting on him; Jack and Ana would keep her safe, but not at the cost of everything else like Gabriel would.

She knew it was the truth, even before Venezuela if she was being honest with herself. He would keep her safe, always – and that was a cost too high for their agents to bear.

“I don’t like this.” Angela said to the ceiling with a defeated sigh. Even as much as Jack was right, it didn’t make her any happier. Gabriel had had her back from the beginning, and now it felt like she was abandoning him – or being abandoned.

“In this case, it doesn’t matter what you like.” She could feel his eyes on her. “I’m not going to let either of you get yourselves – or others – shot because _you_ don’t like something.” She huffed a laugh, despite herself, looking back at the man in her office.

“You’re right, of course.” Angela admitted, though it took longer for her to admit it out loud than necessary. “I agree; I won’t go into the field with him.” Jack nodded, and his shoulders relaxed – she hadn’t realized he’d been tense. Then again, even _she_ knew she was argumentative – but where Gabriel fought based on emotion, Jack was using hard facts. She couldn’t refute facts, as much as she wanted to. It didn’t help that she couldn’t stand the thought of Gabriel getting killed because she was on the field.

“But,” she held a finger up, and Jack tensed again, “if he comes into _my_ infirmary, I _will_ be putting him back together.” It was a shameless abuse of authority – she _knew_ it was a conflict of interest, just as Jack surely did, but she couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , let someone else do her work, not when she was the best Overwatch had – but Jack nodded anyway. She was surprised he didn’t argue with her. He probably knew there wasn’t any way that he could conceivably stop her, not when it came to the operation of her division. She _was_ capable of proper prioritization – she’d done it with Bianchi, well sort of, and she was _mostly_ positive she could do it again.

“Did you tell Gabriel? About me going in the field?” She asked after a long moment. They’d each made promises to the other, but it didn’t mean anything when Jack was giving direct orders that countermanded them – as she’d clarified in her apartment so long ago, Jack’s orders were absolute. She couldn’t stay out of the field; they had found compromise with those promises, and she worried about the _next_ fight to come.

“I did.” He confirmed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t have to break the news to him, but she knew there would be an argument about it. There was always an argument when it came to her safety.

“Do you need me for anything else?” She asked quietly. Angela had work to do and an argument to avoid, both of which would be best done away from this office. He shook his head and he rose, Angela following suit.

“You should eat something.” Jack urged her as they exited the office; she imagined it was nearing noon, but after _that_ conversation she wasn’t feeling up to doing anything but work. She shook her head.

“I’ll eat later – I need to get back to work.” She insisted, turning to do just that before he could drag her off to a canteen.

\---

While she doubted it was necessary, she was wearing her Valkyrie suit and gun when she walked into Winston’s’ room.

“How are you feeling today, Winston?” She asked, setting the tray containing her tools on the bed near him. She glanced around the room, feeling a pang of guilt at the sparse conditions, before returning her gaze to the gorilla quickly – while she _believed_ it was safe, she shouldn’t allow herself to take her eyes off him, not that it would do her much good if he decided to snap.

“I’m feeling fine, Dr. Ziegler.” He responded – but really, what else did she expect? He wasn’t going to complain, not when he was a prisoner at their mercy. She glanced around the room again before pulling a pair of gloves on.

“Is there anything I could get for you?” She asked suddenly, surprising both of them. “I can’t let you out,” she said apologetically, “but I imagine you must be bored out of your mind.” She knew that _she_ would be, at any rate. Angela picked up a syringe and turned to the gorilla – there was no point in an alcohol wipe due to the sheer amount of fur the creature possessed.

“I don’t want you to get into any trouble, doctor.” The gorilla told her kindly. She’d have corrected him, seeing how _she_ oversaw everything regarding him – except for the matter his imprisonment – it would be difficult for her to be in trouble with _herself_ , but she knew it would be foolish to be so trusting this early on. It was one of the reasons she didn’t wear her badge or keys in the room.

“I will ask before I bring you anything,” she assured Winston, before administering the shot. She was surprised at how easy it was, that he would just allow her to inject him without any explanation. “If it’s something harmless I don’t see that my boss will have any problems.” Angela lied easily, setting the syringe aside and reaching for a second.

“Some books would be nice, then.” He told her as she gave him the next shot. There was only one more left, and then she would need to leave – no need to make her guards antsy. “I particularly enjoy engineering and medical manuscripts.” Angela considered the gorilla before her appraisingly.

“A scientist, are we?” Angela asked, raising an eyebrow. She didn’t know why she was surprised, though. The gorilla had been a member of a research facility and had piloted what appeared to be a hand-made rocket from the moon to Earth. “I’ll see what I can do.” It may not be much – even _she_ could see how giving him access to information _might_ allow him to try to formulate some kind of escape, even though he appeared content to remain – but she would try to get him something.

“I appreciate it, doctor.” Winston told her as she finished with the last shot. Angela pulled off her gloves and set them on the tray. It was time to go. She lifted it and turned away from the gorilla, careful not to hit him with the wings as she moved. Only when she exited did she turn her back to him, a small defiance of orders that only she and Winston knew about.

“One more thing, doctor.” Angela glanced back from the door to regard him.

“Yes, Winston?” She asked cautiously.

“Do you think,” he started hesitantly, and she suddenly worried that he was going to ask questions she wouldn’t answer, not while he was a prisoner here. “Do you think I could get some peanut butter?” There was resignation in his voice, though Angela wasn’t sure why. The question baffled her – it absolutely was _not_ what she expected him to ask.

“Peanut butter?” She repeated, as if she may have misheard. She didn’t understand why he’d make a special request of it.

“Yes, doctor.” He sighed. “The therapy has given me an addiction to it.” She considered the gorilla, before deciding that – of all things – peanut butter wouldn’t be a problem.

“I’ll make sure you get some.” She promised, before exiting the room. She’d have to return in a few hours to take another sample – make sure that the injections were affecting the right places – but until then she would look into his requests.

\---

She had delivered two books, as well as paper and pen, to the gorilla when she’d returned to his room – she refused to think of it as a cell, though that was truly what it was, considering the armed guards at all hours. He’d been pleased, even though she couldn’t provide him with a writing surface, and she was happy that she had been able to bring some sort of joy to him. Angela had also assured him that he would get peanut butter with his meals from now on.

She was backing out of his room, tray in hand, when Gabriel found her.

“How’s the monkey?” He asked, disdain in his voice. She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards the lab.

“He’s a _gorilla_ – and he has a name.” Angela told him reproachfully as the man fell into step next to her. “It’s too early to say for sure,” the doctor continued cautiously, “but _Winston_ appears to be doing quite well.”

“Just make sure you’re careful.” He ordered her gruffly. “I don’t trust it.” Angela rolled her eyes.

“Why do you think I’m dressed like this?” She asked. Angela felt like an idiot, walking through the halls of Overwatch in her Valkyrie suit instead of her medical coat and scrubs. The uniform was meant for combat, not whatever _this_ was. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she could detach the wings from the back, so she didn’t look like she was trying to go to a Halloween party while she was working – or risk accidentally hitting someone if she turned too quickly. That definitely was going to be the next thing she looked into.

“I know.” He sighed, and she felt his eyes run over her. “I’ve got to admit, though,” he said quietly in an empty stretch of hallway, “it looks good on you.” Angela glanced towards him sharply, blushing as she took in his intense look even as she preened at the compliment.

“What a coincidence,” she teased back, ignoring her heated cheeks, “I wore it just for you.” While it was true in theory – she was mostly wearing it because she _knew_ he’d throw a fit if she faced a genetically altered silverback gorilla without some sort of protection – she still felt a rush of pleasure at the look of shock that crossed his face when her words registered.

“Careful, doctor,” his voice was low and rough, “you might give a man the wrong idea.” She pulled open the door to the lab, glancing back towards him with mischief and desire in her eyes.

“If he sticks around long enough, maybe he’ll get the right one.” She ducked into the room, hoping her cheeks weren’t too red – and if they were, maybe it would be mistaken for anger – as she deposited the tray for processing. After briefly poking around, she left the lab again to find Gabriel exactly where she left him, leaning against one wall, and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re still here.” She’d expected that, once she’d disappeared into the lab and he hadn’t followed, he would be gone by the time she came back out.

“You told me to stick around.” He told her, pushing off the wall to follow her towards her office. Since she wasn’t planning on seeing Winston again today, she could take the Valkyrie suit off and get back into her scrubs, which meant she was making a stop in her office.

“I suppose you’re right.” She acknowledged with a chuckle, tucking her arm through his as they walked. They reached her office; Gabriel shut the door behind him while she started fumbling with the clasps of her suit.

“ _Whoa!_ ” Gabriel turned to the side quickly and her hands froze in place. “Angela, what are you doing?” He demanded hoarsely, and she colored suddenly as he realized what he _thought_ she was doing, even as she appreciated his attempt to respect her modesty.

“I have a catsuit on under this, as _you_ of all people should know.” She said, suddenly self-conscious, but she forced her hands to continue. She’d taken the suit off before Ana and a dozen of her researchers that had helped her tweak the equipment – Gabriel had taken the suit _off_ her at one point – so she hadn’t thought anything of it. “You can step out if you’d prefer.” She offered, her eyes on the task at hand. Angela didn’t hear him move and the door remained closed. After a moment, she could feel the weight of his eyes on her once more.

She finished unfastening the suit, slipping out of the gear to reveal a black catsuit hugging her form from neck to ankle. There was nothing special about it – it was only used to prevent the Valkyrie suit from chafing against her skin – but it left very little to the imagination, though the same could be said of the suit she’d just removed. Still, with Gabriel’s reaction, she couldn’t help but feel naked. Angela turned, still studiously ignoring the man in her office, to put the suit on its’ stand. Her scrubs were folded on her desk, but before she could reach them Gabriel had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back flush against his chest.

“Gabriel?” Angela gasped, startled, stiffening momentarily before relaxing in his hold and leaning against him contentedly.

“Did Jack talk to you?” Angela hesitated, but nodded just the same. There was no point in denying it – in fact, that would just cause more problems. She was more surprised that he’d bring it up _now_ , especially when they were having such a nice time. She also didn’t like that she couldn’t see his face – couldn’t gauge his reactions – from the position she was in. “What did he say?”

“He told me that we can’t go into the field together. It’s too dangerous.” She worried her lip. “I agreed.” She winced a little, ducking her head as she said it. They had argued long and hard about her going into the field, and then she went and agreed with Jack that it was too dangerous with barely a word against it.

“Jack’s right.” Gabriel admitted after a long beat of silence, surprising her. She wanted to turn to look at him, but his arms were firm around her waist. “If I wasn’t being an idiot, I would have realized it too.” Angela stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Instead, she opted to let him lead the conversation.

“You still plan to go into the field?” He asked quietly, and it made her heart hurt as her body tensed. They both knew the answer to the question, but she didn’t want to vocalize it, make it real. Angela closed her eyes.

“You know I do.” Her voice was small, reluctant, but unwavering. Determined. “Jack and Ana will keep me safe.” She continued in the growing silence. He hadn’t released her, hadn’t tensed up, hadn’t started yelling, so she took that to be a good sign. “I’ll be fine, Gabriel.” Angela just wanted him to say something, _anything_ , to let her know what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

“I know you will.” He muttered, arms tightening almost painfully around her. “I just worry about your safety.” She smiled, even though she knew he couldn’t see it, and lifted a hand to rest on top of his, clasped on her stomach.

“I’ll survive. Just like you do.” Angela assured. “Just trust me – trust _them_.” She urged.

“I do.” He affirmed. “It’s the ones shooting at you I have a problem with.” The doctor chuckled as he relaxed his arms – but only a little. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” He murmured into her hair.

“Of course.” She agreed readily. “Contrary to your belief, I _don’t_ want to get shot.” Angela could feel his lips pull into a smile and relaxed. They weren’t going to fight about this – _again_ – which was a relief.

“You are important to me, Angela.” He continued, and she tightened her grip on his hands briefly – not much she could do to acknowledge him from this position without interrupting, and she didn’t want to interrupt. “ _Please_ don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily.” They both knew she’d save anyone and everyone possible, regardless of the danger around her.

“I will try.” She conceded, but they both knew the moment she was in the field all bets were off – it was how she’d gotten a bullet to the back in Venezuela, after all. He sighed, but he let it go, which surprised her but she wasn’t going to push it. Instead, he loosened his grip on her, and she turned to look up at him. “I’ll be careful, Gabriel.” She raised her hand to lightly touch his scarred cheek.

“You’d better.” His voice was rough but his hand was gentle as it covered hers. “I don’t want to lose you.” Suddenly, he dipped his head and captured her lips with his in a searing kiss, and her hand slid from his cheek to hook her arms around his neck. After a long, _long_ moment, he stepped back – but not before she felt his arousal.

“You should get dressed.” He told her, turning away as she blushed. Quickly, she turned to grab her scrubs, pulling them over her catsuit before grabbing her white coat. She cleared her throat and, once he saw that she had the slightly-less revealing scrubs, he nodded. “Come on; we’ll get dinner.”

\---

Now that she was free of her promise to Gabriel, that she had more opportunities to go into the field, one would assume that she would be leaving the base as often as possible. Promises notwithstanding, however, she had obligations that forced her to remain in Zürich – namely in the form of the gorilla scientist named Winston.

She had managed to argue his case and got him released from captivity after two months. If he were going to do something, she had said, wouldn’t he have done it by now? He’d had _plenty_ of time to wreak havoc or attack her, and he’d been peaceful the entire time. They were still overly cautious around him – he still had a two-man armed escort everywhere he went – but he wasn’t trapped in the room they’d set aside for him in the basement. Angela didn’t blame them – there was still every chance that he might go as crazy as the other subjects still on the moon. He could do a lot of damage – but Angela didn’t believe it would happen. If he hadn’t gone crazy in the time it had taken him to reach Earth – without continued gene therapy – she doubted it would happen now.

Since he was rather intelligent, and no one wanted him learning combat skills, he was left under her supervision. He had been rather shocked to learn that she was a main player in Overwatch, but he’d gotten over it rather quickly. He was even more shocked when he found out that he was being allowed to work in her lab. The only caveat that the others had put to her was there were to be guards – and herself – present whenever he was in the lab. This was both to protect the other researchers as well as make sure he didn’t get involved in something he shouldn’t be – at least until they realized he wasn’t a danger to anyone. The only exceptions to the rule was when she attended command meetings; Winston could work without her for an hour or two.

That meant either she was stuck in the labs or he was trapped in his rooms, so she chose to remain in Zürich – hoping that _maybe_ if she waited it out they would allow him free reign, or at least allow him to work without her direct supervision. Aside from three trips to perform emergency surgery for agents, she remained in the Overwatch headquarters.

Once they got over their trepidation – and the shock of having armed guards in the lab – the other researchers worked relatively well with the gorilla, mostly. Some had to be discreetly reassigned elsewhere, but Angela considered her efforts to be mostly successful.

She had assigned him to work directly under her, researching how to replace a body with omnic parts. She had him working on the theory, while she headed up the actual experimentation – even she wasn’t willing to allow him such a crucial part of her research. Partially it was a matter of trust and partially it was a matter of control.

“An– Dr. Ziegler.” Angela, bent over to lean on the desk Winston was working at, glanced over one shoulder. Gabriel was striding across the lab, looking surprised, and she straightened. Her eyes darted past him towards the clock, where she realized it was after one.

“Commander.” The doctor greeted from her position at the gorilla’s side. Angela hadn’t realized how late it had gotten – per the usual – but what made it even more disconcerting was that she wasn’t the only one in the lab. It threw off their routine, but not for long.

“It’s after one, doctor. You need to wrap it up.” He told her tightly, his eyes hard as he took in the gorilla at her side. Gabriel was the strongest voice against Winston, while she was the gorillas’ champion. While _she_ didn’t have a problem with Winston working as late as she was available – because let’s face it, she’d be there anyway – Gabriel obviously did, though he _was_ trying to be polite by waiting to lecture her for it until after the gorilla was gone. Angela sighed.

“Winston, we’ll have to continue tomorrow.” The doctor turned to look at the gorilla at her side. “Commander Reyes gets _pretty_ bossy when we keep late hours.” Specifically when _she_ kept late hours, but that wasn’t something Winston needed to know about right now.

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler,” Winston acknowledged, ignoring the fact that Gabriel hadn’t said a word to him, large hands moving to put things away. Angela brushed past him to her own desk, where she tucked her own notes into their homes before looking back on the now-rising gorilla.

“Good work today, Winston.” Angela told him warmly as he passed between her and Gabriel. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She made to follow the gorilla out, but Gabriel stepped in front of her, cutting her off silently, though she _was_ supposed to be heading to her rooms.

“Good night, doctor.” He called over one shoulder, his guards moving to flank him as he left the lab. The door shut behind them with a quiet _click_. Angela put her hands on her hips and looked up at him.

“I thought you told me to go to bed.” Angela told him, raising one eyebrow.

“Why was the gorilla still here?” He demanded, crossing his arms. The doctor rolled her eyes.

“He was helping me with my work. You may recall that he was placed under my supervision.” Angela reminded him, her voice overly patient.

“At one in the morning?” He retorted.

“So it’s okay for _me_ to be in the lab at one, but no one else?” Angela knew he didn’t like her staying up late – which was fair because she let her health take a backseat to her work – but he’d never seemed to have an issue with anyone else being there with her on the very rare occasion that it happened.

“ _You_ shouldn’t be here either.” He sighed. “You know I don’t trust it. _You’re_ not even in your Valkyrie suit.” His tone was nothing less than accusatory. Angela had stopped wearing the suit almost a month ago – not that he knew that – because she didn’t believe that Winston was a danger.

“I’m not going to walk around _my_ lab in a combat suit.” Angela informed him. “He’s not a danger to anyone; in fact, he’s been extremely helpful in my research.” She knew that Gabriel was coming from a good place, but he’d smother her if she let him.

“You don’t know that.” Gabriel told her, and she shook her head. They’d gone over this a hundred times – both in private and in the command center; repeating herself now wouldn’t change anything.

“We’re not arguing about this again.” She responded firmly, and after a long moment he threw his hands in the air and headed for the door. Angela just sighed and followed after him, flipping the lights off as she went. He was silent as they waited for the elevator, and she looked him over before bumping his arm with her own.

“Pouting doesn’t become you, Gabriel.” Angela teased.

“I’m _not_ pouting.” He growled back, and she laughed. He absolutely _was_ pouting, but she wasn’t going to needle him any further on it. Once they were on the elevator, she tucked one arm through his and leaned against him, studiously ignoring his grumpiness towards her. Eventually he sighed.

“I wanted to talk to you.” His voice was unusually serious – especially for a late night meeting like this, Winston notwithstanding – and it drew her eyes upwards. “Have you read the KIA reports from today?”

“I read the ones from before ten this morning.” Angela responded cautiously. With her needing to be in the lab with Winston, she’d taken to reading the reports in the mornings to make it easier to facilitate her needs. With Gloria maintaining the infirmary and very few injuries requiring her attention, she’d remained focused in the research lab. “Why?” Trepidation crept into her voice. “What happened?”

She _knew_ that Jack and Ana were fine – neither were out in the field, and even if they had been Gabriel would have found her immediately. While she felt fiercely protective over her people – all of the agents, really – he’d never felt the need to seek her out because of them, even though they both knew she read all of them. It must be fairly awful – did one of their teams get wiped out? They’d never lost an entire squad before, not while she was a member of Overwatch at any rate, and maybe he was trying to soften the blow?

“Commander Bianchi’s dead.” He reported quietly, ripping the bandage off. Angela gasped, clutching his arm tightly in shock. She’d cleared him for fieldwork again just a few months ago, after he’d _finally_ gotten the hang of his new legs. He’d been the _biggest_ thorn in her side, complaining about how long she was taking about letting him do his job. She was certain he’d never forgiven her for cutting his legs off, even if it _had_ been the only thing to do. Now she’d never know if he’d have eventually forgiven her – he was a cantankerous man, so maybe not – because he was dead.

“What happened?” She asked through numb lips, even though she had a decent idea.

“What happens to agents in the field?” Gabriel asked rhetorically, humorlessly. “He got shot and he didn’t get back up.” Angela nodded. Yet another name, another face, to drive her, to haunt her. The doors opened and they were silent as they walked to her room, where she let them both in. This conversation was too private – too confidential – to talk about in the hallway, even if it _was_ nearing two in the morning.

“What happens to Blackwatch?” Angela asked, voice hushed, once they were settled next to each other on the couch.

“We – Overwatch and the UN – are looking for a replacement.” He draped an arm across the back of the couch behind her, and she leaned against him contentedly. “That’s all I can tell you about it, though.” He told her, and she nodded. She’d have known about his death – her job required her to know, or at the very least be familiar with, all the medical information for Overwatch and its shadowy counterpart Blackwatch – but what came after was not her business.

Sometimes, on late nights like these, they talked or did the things that couples did, to where she was comfortable with at least, or both until Gabriel sent himself away. Tonight, though, they stayed curled up in silence, the air heavy with yet another death.


	13. Gauntlet

It had been two days since Bianchi’s death. She’d read the report – fortunately void of pictures – and forced herself to get back to work. As far as she knew, they hadn’t yet replaced him – but then again she wasn’t sure that she’d be told. Eventually she’d determine who the new Commander was, if only because his – or her – file would cross her desk at some point.

“No, look, you need–” Angela was leaned over the desk of one of her researchers, explaining where their math had gone wrong, when a resounding _crash!_ interrupted her – interrupted _everyone_ , as the lab went deathly silent as the sound echoed through the room. Angela straightened and whirled around even as she heard the guns _clack_ as the guards prepared them for firing. That sound alone told her Winston was involved, even before she saw the gorilla surrounded by the remains of a desk and various glass instruments.

It was obvious – even to her, who hadn’t been watching the gorilla with hawk-like intensity – that it wasn’t purposeful. As she’d told Winston, tensions were high – but _this_ was ridiculous. He’d been with Overwatch for over two months; they should be past this by now. Then again, he’d only been free for a little over two weeks. Still, instead of helping the gorilla, who was bleeding from his jarring introduction with the desk, everyone was acting like he was about to rip off someones’ arm.

“Get out.” She barked at the guards, striding between their guns and the gorilla that had – fortunately – remained still to avoid being filled with bullets. Angela noticed vaguely – courtesy of her combat training – that the rest of the researchers had pressed against their desks or the wall, trying to avoid the violence threatened by the agents.

There was tension in the air, and Angela knew that the smallest thing could set them off; so, instead, she drew their attention and ire on herself. She was _Dr. Zielger_ , and she was willing to bet her life that Gabriel had ordered these fools to keep her, _specifically_ , safe from the gorilla he didn’t trust, and as such they _probably_ wouldn’t shoot her.

“We have order–” One began, and she glared at him as she came to stop a short distance away from them, fully blocking their guns from Winstons’ much larger frame. They could step around her, of course, but it made their jobs just a _little_ harder.

“I have just _changed_ your orders.” Angela said firmly, both hands coming to rest on her hips. “You will leave my lab _immediately._ ” She wasn’t quite certain she had the right to order the two men around – she had no authority over agents that weren’t injured – but she didn’t allow her voice to falter. This floor was _hers_ and she was _tired_ of the guns in her lab. Instead of helping the gorilla, who was _probably_ injured, she had to deal with these morons, and she was _done_.

“Will all due respect, ma’am, we answer to Command–” The blonde doctor cut them off fiercely, ignoring the guns that were _still_ aimed at her chest; her mind flashed back to the _last_ time guns were pointed at her, but she forced the panic down and away. She prayed that Winston remained still behind her, because if they decided he was a threat they might just shoot her to nullify whatever threat they thought he posed. She _really_ didn’t want to get shot again, especially in her own lab, _especially_ without the Valkyrie suit.

“Last I checked, _I_ am in charge of this lab, not the Commander.” Angela corrected the man sharply, and she heard a gasp from somewhere behind her. Angela knew she was playing with fire, but that didn’t change anything: she refused to allow her lab to turn into a shooting gallery due to an idiotic pissing match. It didn’t matter if the order came from Jack himself; these men were leaving, _now_.

“You may report to _him_ with your new orders.” She had no doubt of which Commander the men were referring to. “If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me _himself_.” Angela raised one hand to point at the door; only years of medical practice kept it from shaking from the stress of having two _very_ dangerous weapons loaded and pointed at her chest. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she was well practiced at forcing herself to do things she probably shouldn’t, regardless of how comfortable they were. “ _Out_.”

She held her breath as the men stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered if they would obey – or step around her to shoot Winston. Finally, they relaxed their hold and flipped the safety back on.

“Ma’am.” One nodded stiffy towards her in, what Angela assumed was, respect, and both filed out the door. Angela stood frozen in place, heart pounding and roaring in her ears, as she listened to their boots fade away down the hallway. Then, once she was in control of herself once more, she turned back towards Winston, who was still in the ruins of a table. Ignoring the looks of shock and awe around her – she’d just thrown a gauntlet down, hadn’t she? – she strode to her injured scientist, kneeling carefully in the mess.

She knew there would be repercussions for this later. She had, quite publicly, gone against a direct order from one of the Commanders that was in charge of _all_ of them – her included. Whether the order came from Jack or Gabriel made no difference, not in the long run; she’d defied an order, and there would be a punishment. Still, Angela couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – worry about that just now, or the reprimand that would swiftly come. Those men would go directly to the Commander – while she was almost _certain_ it was Gabriel, there was a decent chance it could be Jack – and then she’d have to deal with _that_.

“Where are you hurt?” Angela asked, eyes lighting on the blood that dotted the white floor. She glanced to her left and right at the researchers that were milling about hesitantly. “Don’t just stand around; this isn’t going to clean itself.” Angela kept herself from snapping – she wasn’t angry with _them_ – but it was a near thing.

“It’s, uh, just my hands, doctor.” Winston assured her cautiously, showing the woman the cuts on his hands. She looked them over with practiced eyes, nodding.

“Can you get up? I’ll need to clean them.” Her eyes looked over the glass that was in the disaster around her. “I’ll also need to make sure you don’t get sick from whatever was in those.” The gorilla nodded before carefully hefting himself up without using his hands. Gingerly, he escaped the mess he’d made without cutting up his feet, and Angela rose.

“I’m taking Winston to the infirmary.” She announced to the room, mostly so they knew where to direct the Commander when he came blazing in here. “I expect this,” she waved her hand at the desk and glass, “to be properly taken care of by the time I return.” Murmurs of assent followed her out the door as she led the gorilla – who was walking awkwardly without the use of his hands – away.

“You shouldn’t have done that, doctor.” The gorilla told her quietly as they ambled down the hallway. The distance seemed much longer today – either a result of their slow walking speed or the anger-induced adrenaline that was still rushing through her.

“You’re probably right.” Angela agreed easily. “But it still needed to be done.” She didn’t need any of her staff – to include the gorilla, even _if_ some of the others held him in contempt – to be shot due to prejudice or itchy trigger fingers. It would have been one matter entirely if Winston had appeared violent – or if he’d actually _done_ something in the lab just now to warrant having a gun drawn – but he wasn’t and he hadn’t.

“I’ll face the consequences,” she assured the gorilla, “but _you_ will be fine.” Winston was hers, just as everyone else in Overwatch – scientist, agent, or Commander – was, and she would be _damned_ before he was caught in the crossfire when she could – would, _had_ – shield him.

\---

She healed Winston’s hands and gave him two shots to ensure that he didn’t get sick from the chemicals that might have gotten inside him from the glass, then escorted him back to the lab. She’d given him strict orders to inform her if _anything_ felt wrong in the next seventy-two hours, no matter when it was.

Angela was honestly surprised that she’d been left in peace for as long as they had been. She found the lab cleaned and Commander-free – another surprise. She made sure everyone was back to work on their various tasks before returning to her desk. Angela wanted to go camp out in her office – easier to keep her scolding private – but she didn’t want to throw gasoline on the fire by leaving Winston _totally_ unchaperoned.

However, the biggest surprise of all was when it was Ana that came to collect Angela barely ten minutes later – bringing two guards to leave in the room with Winston. Neither woman said anything; Angela merely rose when the Captain entered and followed her out and to her office. The two women sat, and Angela fought not to squirm under Ana’s assessing gaze. Angela wondered why she’d gotten Ana as opposed to Jack – Gabriel would be out of the question, of course – but knew better than to ask questions at this point.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Ana finally broke the silence.

“I was helping a researcher when there was a crash in the lab behind me.” She told the woman, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands in her lap. “By the time I’d turned around, your agents had their guns drawn and ready to fire on Winston. It was obvious that he’d tripped and fallen – breaking a table and several specimens in the process – and that the agents were overreacting.” The words poured out of her in a rush. “So, I stepped between Winston and their guns and told them to leave.”

It hadn’t been as simple as all that, but it was a fairly succinct explanation for what had happened. She didn’t recount how angry it had made her, to see the guns drawn on one of her scientists – even if it _was_ Winston, the current point of contention between her and her superiors. She didn’t tell the Captain how terrified it had made her, staring down the agents at the end of their guns. She didn’t voice her desperate hope that they wouldn’t fill her with bullets instead. How she felt didn’t matter – not in this. It didn’t even matter that she had bodily placed herself between guns and Winston in her lab. What mattered was that she ordered two agents out of her lab when they had been placed there by the only people that outranked her.

“You stepped in front of their guns?” Ana raised an eyebrow, tone incredulous. Angela doubted for a single second that Ana was unaware of what went down in the lab, but she nodded just the same. “And why, Angela, did you think that was a good idea?”

She _hadn’t_ thought – she had just moved, her first instinct to protect those around her – Winston and the other researchers both – from the guns, even if everyone – even the agents with the guns – were on the same side, whether they knew it or not. By the time she realized it _probably_ was a bad idea, that they were fully prepared to shoot, she was already standing in front of the guns and at _their_ mercy, rather than the other way around.

“It was the right thing to do.” Angela said, after a long moment of thought. Ana just waited patiently for an explanation, and she made a helpless gesture with her hands. “They were going to _shoot_ him, Ana.” Obviously, Angela, they’d had their guns drawn. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” She found herself insisting.

“It isn’t up to you to decide whether the gorilla – _Winston_ – did anything wrong.” Ana reminded her patiently. “Those guards are as much for his protection as they are yours.” Angela choked on a derisive laugh.

“ _His_ protection? He is a _prisoner_ here; he _has_ no protection, not from your agents.” She had been his only shield here in Overwatch; she was too compassionate by far, she knew, and yet she couldn’t help herself. If he’d come off that rocket swinging, tearing through their men or if he’d destroyed her research lab the moment he’d been set free, she could understand. But instead, he’d submitted to their demands and the guns without complaint; he’d _let_ her inject him with a number of medications, any one of which could have been used to kill him.

“If he were a prisoner, Angela, he’d still be locked up.” Ana told her carefully. Angela wanted to call her a liar, but she didn’t. “But he has only been with us a short time. We must be cautious – especially when he can do so much damage.” The doctor knew that – she’d read the reports, seen what little footage was available that showed _exactly_ what the gorillas of Horizon were capable of, long before Winston had landed on this planet.

That didn’t change the fact that Winston had been regarded differently, even on the lunar base. He’d responded better than the others, and there was no sign that he’d been a part of the attack – not in the few clips recovered or even in the logs leading up to the tragedy. Coupled with his absolute passivity being here, there was _no_ reason to keep him a prisoner.

“The three of you gave him to me.” Angela said quietly in the silence, voice firm. “He is _mine_ , under my jurisdiction and under my protection.” Here she was on my solid ground; while she wasn’t quite certain of where her authority ended, on this it was clear. Any medical staff – researchers like Winston included – were hers; she had it in writing somewhere in her rooms, from the contracts and paperwork she’d signed so long ago. “I will not have your agents threatening _my_ staff.”

“Careful, Angela.” Ana cautioned, leaning forward. “This is not _your_ infirmary. You still answer to us.” Because they were the leaders of Overwatch, the only three that could overturn any of her decisions – though it had never happened. They mostly left her to her own devices – unless it was two in the morning or she wasn’t eating, at any rate – and made sure she had the supplies necessary to do her job and do it well.

Then again, she’d never directly challenged any of their orders. She’d never needed to until now.

“And when one of my people gets _shot_? Not just Winston, but the others as well?” She challenged. “I was _lucky_ they didn’t get jumpy and shoot _me_ _this_ time – they didn’t even _lower_ their guns until right before they left – but what about next time?” Angela didn’t want there to be a next time – she did not want another set of guards in her lab. Her researchers would be distracted with them after this, which meant that she’d have to keep Winston away for a few days; she would have to punish one of her more promising scientists because two idiots decided to make a big deal out of nothing.

“Winston has done _nothing_ wrong. He has allowed us to confine him and inject him with whatever we’d like. He has not hurt _anyone_. He moves carefully and measures each action before he takes it, because he _knows_ there are idiots with itchy trigger fingers.” Angela was ranting now, angry at the injustice the gorilla was facing. She knew she should curb her tongue – Ana was _not_ Gabriel, even if she was particularly forgiving.

“He is intelligent and has, in the short time I’ve had him, been an enormous help in the lab. He does not deserve to be threatened with violence when he _stumbles_.” She took a breath. “My staff do not need to worry if they will be _shot_ if they show up to work.” She’d removed the scientists that had the biggest problem with the gorilla, but more would crop up if her lab began to be viewed as dangerous.

None of her researchers were cleared for combat – nor did most of them want to be. Today was probably the first time they’d seen a gun pointed at something – _someone_ – outside of a movie or television show. She could not afford to step in front of a gun every time there was a misunderstanding. The stress – or an _actual_ bullet – would kill her. The doctor bit her tongue before she continued and said something she truly _would_ regret.

“The easiest solution would be to confine him again.” Ana informed her, as if that was truly a solution. Angela just gave her a _look_.

“Just because it is _easy_ does not make it _right_.” The doctor snapped, crossing her arms. She’d forced herself to remain in Zürich, both so that she could keep an eye on his gene therapy and so that she could be his advocate to the others. Then, once he was released, she decided to remain home until they would allow him to work without her direct supervision. Now that seemed like a faraway dream.

“And if he hurts one of your staff, Angela? Hurts _you_?” Ana demanded in return, shifting her weight in her chair. “He could easily tear through your lab; we both know that none of your people would stand a chance against him.” Angela knew that – it was why she’d worn the Valkyrie suit around him when they first brought him in; it gave her a better chance.

“He could have lost it today, when he was bleeding and hurt on the ground with _guns_ pointed at him, but he _didn’t_. Your _agents_ were more likely to hurt me than he was!” Angela insisted. “He remained still and calm, even after the guards were gone. He doesn’t deserve to be punished.” She’d argued this so often that she _knew_ she was repeating herself; even if the situation was different, the words were nearly the same. Angela threw her hands up with a disgusted noise.

“You already know all of this; I don’t know why we’re going through it all again. You have already made up your mind – you and the Commanders – or you wouldn’t be here.” It was hard not to make the title sound like an insult, angry as she was. Whatever the decision was, Angela was sure to dislike it. “So, please, tell me what my punishment is to be. I have work to do.” Ana sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“It is hard to punish you, Angela; as you know, you _are_ invaluable to us here. We can’t just suspend you – it would be detrimental to Overwatch’s needs.” She knew the best way to punish her was to force her into inaction – but even as she thought it, she knew that it would be a foolish waste of her time and talents.

“Gabriel would have us punish Winston instead by confining him to his room and doubling the guards.” Angela opened her mouth to argue again, but Ana cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Jack and I disagreed. As you said, it is wrong to punish someone who did nothing wrong.” Ana raised an eyebrow at the blonde doctor. “However, you _did_ do something wrong. Which begs the question: how should we punish you?”

“We can’t force you to remain in Zürich, not when your skills could save lives in the operating room or in the field, and we can’t keep you out of the lab, not when you are the reason we have had so many advances. It’s quite the conundrum, really – without being able to suspend or demote you, we are left with very few options.” Ana told her, and Angela nodded slowly; her skills were invaluable as she applied them.

“Winston will be assigned two new guards, who will escort him and stand guard in the lab. They have strict orders; you will not interfere with them.” Angela didn’t like it, even as she knew it was inevitable. They couldn’t be seen kowtowing to her, not after the stunt she had pulled. Hopefully these guards would be less twitchy.

“For the next four months – unless you are in the field or in surgery – you will not work outside of the hours of eight in the morning and eight in the evening. The guards will ensure you comply.” Ana spread her hands before her. “It lacks substance, I know, but you have to admit that it is a perfect punishment for _you_ when you consider the hours you prefer to keep.” Angela already hated it – some of her best work was done at night, when everyone was gone – but she could recognize and admit that it was an odd punishment, even if it was specifically, perfectly, tailored to her.

“Many will believe you were let off lightly.” Ana met Angela’s eyes. “And it would be a fair statement. With this limitation to your work is a single, _final_ warning. We do not wish to lose you, Angela, but we cannot have you publicly undermining us. You may argue with us in private, but you _will_ follow orders in public.” Her tone was firm. “If it is for the good of Overwatch, we _will_ remove you.” Angela’s heart nearly stopped; she couldn’t imagine losing her place here in Overwatch. Funny how she had, at one point, hated the thought of joining them and now she could hardly stand the thought of losing them. “Do you understand me?” The doctor bowed her head.

“I understand, Captain.” Calling her Ana in this moment felt wrong.

“We don’t want to let you go, Angela.” Ana told her in the silence that followed. “Do not force our hands.”

\---

Eight in the evening came much too soon. She had no idea what she was going to do for the next twelve hours – for the next four _months_. She bid goodnight to the guards – who made sure she got on the elevator – and to Winston – who was being escorted by the guards. The elevator doors slid shut before she made a choice of floor; did she want to go to the canteen or did she want to hole up in her room?

Her work was her life; the last time she’d had this much time off was when she was in high school. Even then, she could research topics that interested her; she was fairly certain that would be considered work, and she needed to toe the line for at _least_ a week or two before trying to get away with something like that. She didn’t watch television – she didn’t even _own_ a television – and most of her reading was done for work; burying herself in her work – even before Overwatch – made it easy to avoid hobbies. It made it easier to avoid casual social situations, too. Her first friends had come with Overwatch, but they were the ones who she was fighting with; she wasn’t quite sure how to manage that.

She decided that she should eat – she hadn’t eaten breakfast (as usual) or lunch (due to stress and a limited workday) – and went to the canteen. It was deserted – dinner had ended over an hour ago, but there was always something to put together. She made herself a sandwich, and as soon as she was finished eating she took herself up to her rooms.

Angela was surprised to find Gabriel leaned against the wall outside her room. She paused as she stepped out of the elevator – she wasn’t certain if he was going to lecture her or not, if he was here as Commander or not – but there was _nowhere_ else for her to go. He had looked up when the elevator opened and looked her over critically.

“Where have you been?” He asked; a glance at the watch on her wrist revealed it was a quarter to nine.

“I was in the canteen.” She imagined he thought she was breaking their rules; she wasn’t so foolish to try to do so on the first day of her punishment, even if it did chafe.

“Come on.” He pushed off from the wall and headed further down the hall, to where she knew his rooms were. She hesitated briefly but followed him down the hall.

“What are we doing?” She asked as he pushed the door open. She’d never been in his rooms before – they’d always curled up on her couch in the evenings. Late nights were not conducive to long winded meetings of any sort, not when she went to work so early, so it never had been an issue before.

“We’re watching a movie.” He told her, as if it had already been agreed upon as opposed to something she just found out. She was pretty sure he had more important things to do – she knew that, normally, she certainly did, and _he_ wasn’t the one being punished. There was no reason for him to be watching a movie with her at nearly-nine in the evening.

“Make yourself at home.” Still, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do, so she walked inside. He followed her in, allowing the door to swing shut behind them.

His rooms were set up in the same layout hers were – she imagined all of the rooms on this floor had the same floorplan. His boasted a single couch and coffee table, placed before the television she assumed they would be watching. His guns – and what looked to be cleaning cloths – as well as other combat gear sat neatly on a table against the far wall. It was tidy, as hers was – she wondered if it was because he spent as little time in it as she did her own or if he was naturally neat. The two doors that she knew led to a bedroom and a bathroom – like in her own rooms – were closed.

She curled up on one side of the couch as he grabbed the controller. Before he turned the television on, he looked her over once more.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” His tone was carefully neutral, and she wasn’t certain if _he_ wanted to talk about it. She knew he didn’t like Winston, and probably liked even less that she’s gotten herself into trouble over him. Angela worried her lip, and decided that she really didn’t want to talk about today – not right now – and shook her head. Between the guns and Ana, she’d had enough fighting today.

He dropped onto the couch next to her and flipped on an action movie that, after her own time in the field, seemed rather anticlimactic. She curled up against him, her head resting where his shoulder and chest met, and his arm wrapped around her, his hand coming to rest on her hip. He was rather vocal towards the television – berating bad decisions and muttering directions as if they could hear him – but she could tell he was enjoying himself.

“What did you think?” He asked, as the credits started to roll. She glanced up towards him with a small smile.

“You’re very noisy.” She teased. “But it was a good movie, I guess.”

“You guess?” If she wasn’t pressed against him she would have shrugged.

“I don’t watch many movies, Gabriel. It was a bit over dramatic at times and the logic behind some of their actions was flawed, but I guess that’s alright.” He laughed.

“You’re not supposed to be analyzing the movie, Angela. You’re supposed to enjoy it.” He grabbed the remote to change the movie.

“Says the man who was barking orders the entire time.” Angela poked him in the chest.

“Yes, well.” He selected something and the screen went quiet as it loaded. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

While it was late when the second movie ended, it was nowhere near the hours she was used to keeping. She expected him to start another or send her on her way, but instead he let the credits roll. Angela glanced up, wondering if maybe he’d fallen asleep, to find him staring blankly at the screen.

“Gabriel…?” She asked carefully. “Are you alright?” He blinked and looked down at her.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He assured her, his free hand running over his head. “I just–” He cut himself off, shaking his head with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” She wondered if it was about today, and while _she_ didn’t really want to argue about it, they could talk about it – rather, he could lecture her – if that was what he wanted. “We can talk about it.”

“No. No, it’s fine.” His jaw was set; whatever it was – and she was willing to bet it was her stunt in the lab – was bothering him. “I’ll tell you later.” The arm around her tightened briefly, and she allowed herself to be pressed more firmly against him. “It can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” She told him after a long, considering moment, shifting into a more comfortable position against him. “What’s next?”

\---

“It’s getting late.” He murmured after the third movie, and she nodded. He was right; she should head to bed and let him get some sleep. She carefully pushed away from him and stretched, a big motion pulling both arms up and over her head as he flipped the television off.

“I should go.” She responded once her stretch was done. Her eyes found her watch, it was well after two – which surprised her, as she hadn’t expected to be up late during her punishment. Then again, until her sleep schedule regulated to match, she’d probably be up late anyways. Angela rose to her feet.

“You could stay.” The offer was so quiet she thought she’d imagined it. But, when she turned to look back at him in surprise, his eyes met hers resolutely.

“I, ah, Gabriel–” She stammered uselessly, embarrassed as her cheeks grew warm.

“I’m not asking for sex, Angela.” He sighed, and she wondered about the unhappy sound. Before she could question it, he continued, eyes dropping to his hands. “I was just… It’s fine, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Angela made a frustrated sound.

“I don’t know what it is you want to know if _I_ want _anything_.” Once again she lamented her lack of social grace and knowledge of societal norms. If she wasn’t who she was – brilliant and driven and an innovative genius – she’d have a better understanding, but then she’d never have made it to Overwatch to begin with. It made her feel foolish and unworthy of the attention he’d bestowed upon her, when she had no idea how to determine what was wanted and what actions should be taken.

“I just want to sleep, Angela.” He was no help either; a man of actions rather than words, getting anything out of him was like getting blood from a stone. Oh, she knew he was trying to help her, that he understood that she was honestly floundering most days, but that didn’t make him any less recalcitrant.

“With me?” The words were hesitant – even she knew the colloquialism behind that word. He’d said he wasn’t looking for sex, and she believed him. He hadn’t lied to her, not as far as she could tell at any rate.

“I just,” he sighed, and she could almost imagine his thoughts – of how foolish she was, of how he hated that he had to spell it out, “I just want to hold you; is that alright?” His words were gentle, and she could hear real longing – and something else? she couldn’t tell – in his voice.

“Just sleep?” She repeated, as if she didn’t believe him – which she did, just she felt the need to fill the silence with some sort of sound.

“Yes, Angela.” The words were patient. He was careful at not pushing her too far, to reach _just_ outside of where her current comfort zone was and gently tugging her along. She nodded slowly, licking dry lips nervously.

“Alright.” Since the night they’d changed the nature of their relationship, they’d never slept in the same room; she knew, logically, that it was _just_ sleep, that she’d slept next to him before – even on him, once – but it felt different. She glanced down at herself; she was wearing her scrubs, and while they weren’t her first choice of sleepwear they were comfortable enough.

“You can borrow something of mine, if you’d prefer.” He offered, seeing where her eyes went. His hands moved up, palms out towards her. “Or you can stay in that. Up to you.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She replied awkwardly, and he nodded and rose, striding towards the bedroom without looking back. Angela stood uncertainly in the room, knowing she should follow – he’d expressly asked her to stay, and that indicated an invitation into his bedroom.

“Are you coming?” He asked carefully, poking his head back out to regard her. She nodded and managed to get her feet to take her across the room – it was just like hers, only not. The bed was made and there wasn’t any sign of clutter or clothes. He handed her a bundle of cloth and pushed her towards the bathroom – which was just as tidy as the rest of the room.

She pulled the scrubs off and folded them, leaving underwear in place, and pulled his shirt – comically large on her thin frame – and shorts on, tightening the drawstring to keep them on her. She lamented not having a toothbrush, but helped herself to his mouthwash and washed her face. A sharp knock had her jumping.

“You okay in there?” Angela pulled the door open.

“Sorry.” She gathered her scrubs and stepped out of the room.

“It’s fine. I’ll be there in a few; make yourself comfortable.” She nodded and, once she made it to the bed, he closed the door and sent the room into darkness. Angela placed her clothing on the nightstand – having nowhere else suitable to put it – and sat on the edge of the bed uncertainly. When he emerged several minutes later, she was still sitting on the edge.

“You don’t have to stay, Angela.” He told her tiredly. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but something about the way he was standing made Angela feel like it wasn’t his normal sleeping attire.

“No, I want to.” She insisted. Angela was just worried about screwing up… something. She wasn’t really sure what. “I was just waiting for you.” He flipped the light off and made his way to the bed easily. It bounced under his weight as he settled, and she turned to look at his dark silhouette. Carefully – with considerably less bouncing – she crawled under the blanket, worried that she’d bother him and then feeling like an idiot because he’d _asked_ her to stay so why would he be bothered? Slightly emboldened – partially by the knowledge that he wanted her to stay and partially by the darkness that hid her flushed cheeks – she shifted until she was just next to him, hesitating momentarily about invading his space.

“Come here.” He mumbled, arm shifting and making space for her at his side. She curled up, just like she would on a couch, head on his shoulder and his arm came around to rest on her hip. Angela wasn’t sure where to put her arm, but finally she settled for resting her hand on his sternum.

She was certain her heart was going to beat out of her ribs. She was even _more_ certain that he could feel it from where her chest pressed against her side.

“Relax. Sleep.” He rumbled, sleep roughing his voice.

She did sleep eventually, but it wasn’t until long after his breathing had slowed and his body relaxed in slumber.

\---

His alarm was _probably_ the most annoying sound she’d ever heard. She groaned and rolled onto one side as he pulled away to turn the noise off.

“Morning.” He said, flopping onto his back once more.

“What time is it?” She asked, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes as the other covered her mouth as she yawned. If it weren’t for her punishment she could laze or sleep in, but being forced to start and stop work at certain hours required that she get down to the lab as soon as she was allowed.

“Little after seven.” He rolled over and threw an arm over her waist, lips pressing to the top of her head briefly. She smiled at the gesture – all her anxiety from the night before was gone; now that it was over she just felt foolish – before sighing.

“I have to go. I need to get to the lab.” He knew the limitations of her punishment, just as the other two did. That didn’t stop him from grumbling under his breath and pulling her tighter against him for a long moment.

“I know.” He said finally, releasing her. “Duty calls.” She glanced back over her shoulder to look at him.

“I’ll see you later?” He nodded, before capturing her lips with his – she felt mild embarrassment because she needed to brush her teeth.

“Count on it.” They both rolled out of bed, and she collected her clothes and headed towards the door, glancing back only once at the man before leaving the bedroom. She could give him his clothes back later. Now, if she could just make it to her room without anyone seeing her.

Angela opened the door to find Jack on the other side, one hand poised to knock. They just stared at each other, and the longer the silence grew the redder Angela’s cheeks grew. She wanted to stammer that it _wasn’t_ what it looked like, they were just _sleeping_ , but the words wouldn’t pass her lips.

“Uh, is Gabriel in?” Jack asked awkwardly. Mutely, she nodded before clearing her throat – twice.

“I’ll, uhm, I’ll get him.” She offered. Angela would have called out from the door, but she didn’t think she could raise her voice loud enough to alert the man. Angela left Jack standing in the doorway and poked her head into the bedroom. He was just about to close the bathroom door, but paused when he saw her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, taking in her flushed cheeks and the near-death grip she had on her clothes.

“Jack’s here.” He stared at her for a moment before barking a laugh.

“Of _course_ he is.” Gabriel aborted his trip to the bathroom and followed her out of the room. Jack was exactly where she’d left him, looking faintly amused now.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you both – later.” The words were rushed as she brushed past Jack and fled to her own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trash punishment is trash. Even after two years I can't think of anything better.


	14. Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has come back after my hiatus and has chosen to pick up from this chapter, please read chapter 9.

She _hated_ time constrictions.

There was too much to do in the day. First there was the administrative duties, reviewing any concerns for pending teams as well as reading over KIA reports and status updates from her researchers. Then she had to check in with Gloria, to make sure nothing in the infirmary needed her attention. That took up at least an hour of her day – maybe two if she was unlucky and there was more paperwork than normal – and she could feel every second as it passed.

Then there were command meetings if she was even _more_ unlucky. While she didn’t always sit in on the meetings – she certainly didn’t understand enough of military strategy to be helpful for at least half of them – she was now present for many. It was expected that she would continue her duties – _all_ of her duties – during her punishment, so it wasn’t like she could just skip a meeting or two. Then again, she probably couldn’t skip them anyway – one didn’t just _skip_ meetings with the Commanders and Captain.

Fortunately for her, her first true day of punishment held minimal reports and no meetings to speak of. That didn’t mean something couldn’t come up later – though she hoped no emergencies came up, as always – but for now it meant she had the maximum amount of time in her lab.

She’d asked Winston to stay in his room – cage, if she were being honest, even if Ana was _not_ – for the day.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, or that you’re being punished,” she explained. “It’s just – yesterday was _stressful_ , and not just for you and me. I have to make sure all of my staff are taken care of.” If any of them were concerned or nervous, she’d have to reassign them to a different lab – hopefully temporarily, but possibly permanently.

“I understand, doctor.” She was unsurprised at how agreeable he was being. _He_ knew how bad it could have been yesterday – how bad it still was; one day in this room wouldn’t be a hardship. Still, she was grateful that he was understanding.

“I will be back for you tomorrow.” She promised before she left for her labs. The guards remained behind, but she was certain that _someone_ would make sure she left on time, even if they weren’t able to watch her. Angela wasn’t planning to press her luck on the curfew, though. She’d set an alarm – three, actually – to ensure she left timely. She wouldn’t give them any excuse to claim she wasn’t following orders, not that she thought they were looking for any. The punishment wasn’t for show – if it was, they would have given her one that would have seemed more appropriate to the masses – and she would treat it as seriously as she had treated the situation the day before.

When she entered her lab, she expected to discover people missing – not that she would blame them. She did not expect any of them to remain in a place where they felt threatened, and the previous afternoon had been _very_ threatening. To her surprise, there wasn’t a single person absent.

“I appreciate that all of you have returned today.” Angela said to the room. She’d have felt bad for interrupting their work – but they had paused when she walked in, as if they had expected her to speak. She hated public speaking. Oh, giving orders and directions was fine, but put her in front of a group to _talk_? No, thank you. Still, it was her duty.

“What happened yesterday was… unfortunate.” She couldn’t use the adjectives she _wanted_ to use. Angela wouldn’t disparage the agents in front of her staff for fear that those words could be construed to be undermining their leaders. She felt limited in what she could say, but she had to say _something_.

“Considering the events of yesterday, I understand if any of you are uncomfortable working in my lab while Winston is present. Although he is not here today so that I could speak to you, he will be returning in the morning with a new set of guards.” She looked around at the researchers around her, hating that it had come to this. “If you wish to be reassigned to a different lab – either here in Zürich or elsewhere – please do not hesitate to tell me. I will completely understand.” For each one that left, she would have to find a replacement – _if_ a replacement could be found. Word would spread of what had happened yesterday, and that would make it harder to find someone willing to work with her.

“I appreciate your time. Please do not let me keep you from your work.” She had resigned herself to getting little done, expecting her researchers to want to leave. Still, she crossed the room to her designated space as if it were any other day. Slowly, she heard the staff behind her begin to work on their various projects.

\---

It wasn’t until lunchtime that one of her staff approached her. As was her usual, she was staying in her labs to work while the rest went to their meals. She was grateful that none of her friends had come to try to take her to lunch – she’d have dug her heels in, and that might cause a fight she couldn’t afford.

“Yes, Sierra?” Angela asked when she noticed the woman hovering at her side. She was already trying to think of who could replace her, since that was the only reason anyone would be pulling her aside today. It had been an unusually quiet morning for her; normally she could expect to be asked questions and for advice or feedback from those around her, and yet they had all carefully not pulled her attention. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

“About yesterday,” the woman began, pausing as if unsure of how to continue.

“I can reassign you, if that’s what you want.” Angela assured her gently, allowing none of her misgivings at losing a staff member to color her voice. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Sierra shook her head, which left Angela confused. If she wasn’t looking for a reassignment, why would she be bringing up the day before? “I just wanted to thank you, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Ah, you’re welcome?” She wasn’t sure why any of her staff would be thanking her, aside from Winston. In fact, she’d expect the opposite. She was the one who insisted on allowing Winston in the labs so he didn’t have to stay in his rooms, which had necessitated the guards that had pulled their guns the day before.

“I know, I know, you were protecting Winston,” the scientist hurried to continue, “but I work right behind where he fell. If–” The woman licked her lips nervously. “If the agents had shot at him, I was worried I might – well, you know. So, I really appreciate what you did.” Angela looked around the room briefly, noting the approximate placements of everything during what had happened yesterday. She didn’t think Sierra had been in any danger – the agents had been aiming towards Winston, who had been on the ground, even _if_ they’d left the guns trained on her when she moved between them – but she understood that the stress of the situation may have made it seem that way. Maybe ricochet could have hit her, but she wasn’t convinced. Regardless, Angela nodded.

“While I do not believe that what happened yesterday will happen again, I do want to remind you that there will be two new armed guards in here tomorrow.” Angela was sure that these guards had been spoken to about drawing their weapons without true cause. Holding Dr. Ziegler at gun point in her _own_ lab, regardless of what was behind her, was sure to have upset the leadership core no matter what they had said to her.

“If you’re worried about getting hurt, I can temporarily transfer you somewhere else.” Sierra shook her head again.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Angela wasn’t going to make her leave if she didn’t want to – she was certain she’d be finding enough replacements without forcing one. Sierra turned to leave, but Angela stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She wanted to assure the woman that it would be safe, that she wouldn’t let _anyone_ hurt her staff – that she would take, _had_ taken, bullets to protect those who were hers – but the words died on her lips. Those were sentiments she could not express, not with the Commanders’ judgement so fresh.

“If you change your mind, at any time, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I want all of you to be happy and to feel safe.” She offered kindly instead.

“Thank you, doctor. I – I should let you get back to work.” 

\---

The rest of the day went by slowly, which was only made worse by the feeling of eyes on her every time her back was turned. She had been approached by three of her researchers – four, if she counted Sierra – by the time she left her labs at eight. She had assured them of placements in another Zürich lab by noon the next day; she would have to do the paperwork in the morning when she was permitted work once more. Considering the turnout, Angela wondered if her labs would be empty – except for Sierra, who had assured her she hadn’t wanted a reassignment – when she returned in the morning. It would be a real challenge to replace all of them on short notice, but she’d make it happen if it was necessary.

Angela didn’t see any sign of a guard, or really anyone else that would report her, but she _knew_ that if she had pushed it there would have been consequences. So, she took the elevator to the canteen. One of the few good things out of this punishment was that she would eat somewhat properly, at least.

There were a handful of unfamiliar people milling about today, but considering the only people she normally ate with were still holed up in the command center – or wherever else they were when they _weren’t_ getting shot at – she sat down at a table separate from the others. She was surprised when a plate was set down across from her a short time later – but was less surprised to see it was McCree; he had been the only person who had approached her casually outside of her three friends.

In fairness, she probably wasn’t very approachable, but that just made his behavior more unusual.

“Good evening, McCree.” Angela wasn’t sure what he was here for, but she could be polite couldn’t she? A quick glance proved that he was no longer under guard; not that she felt threatened by the man, but she hoped it was a good frame of reference for Winston – unless the actions of yesterday reset all the progress that had been made.

“Evenin’, doc.” He tugged at the edge of his hat in what she assumed was a gesture of respect – she wasn’t very familiar with the customs of people who wore cowboy hats – as he settled in the chair across from her. “Heard y’got ya hands slapped.” Despite herself she huffed a laugh at his description.

“Something like that, yes.” Angela agreed as she took a bite of her salad. Before either of them could say more, three men approached their table with a confident swagger. She had no idea why she was so popular today; she’d never had so many people approach her table. Then again, she normally ate with the Commanders and Captain – that could be a more than a little intimidating. Absently she noticed McCree tense, but most of her attention was on the newcomers.

“Is he bothering you, ma’am?” The man in the middle asked, tone respectful as he addressed her, though his attention was completely on the man across from her. The tone, however, couldn’t hide the dangerous look in his eyes – in all three of their eyes, in fact – that had her paying _close_ attention to them. They weren’t _quite_ crowding her, but they were looming over the table in a way she didn’t like.

“No, he certainly is _not_ bothering me.” Angela replied, voice cool but still polite as she set her fork down. Clearly the three were not expecting that answer, which gave them pause. She was Dr. Ziegler; she’d faced down _guns_ yesterday, went toe-to-toe with the _Commanders_ on a daily basis, and these men thought they could intimidate _her_?

“Are you sure, ma’am? We don’t mind helping him along.” The one on the leaders right, the one closest to her, was now looming over her directly instead of the table as he delivered the words. She saw McCree shift in his seat from the corner of her eye, as if he would do or say something; it was clear that he didn’t like the way the man had turned his ungentle gaze on her. As if she needed protection from _them_. Before he could decide what to do, she filled the silence once more.

“It is quite obvious that the three of you do not know who I am.” She was willing to bet they’d watched McCree sit down across from her and decided to make trouble without ever recognizing her. How would they? Most agents didn’t _actually_ meet her – she was just a name, just like most of the agents were just a name to her. After all, not even _she_ could be everywhere at once.

“So, let me rectify that.” Her voice was perfectly pleasant as she rose, forcing the man to take a step back as she crowded him in return and held out her hand. Her heels barely put her at the same height as the shortest of the three men, but that didn’t deter her. “I am Dr. Angela Ziegler.” Their startled looks and wide eyes proved that they had _not_ realized who she was – fair enough, it was a large organization – but it was unfortunate that it took a power play to make them back off. “What are your names?”

She knew – oh _did_ she know after yesterday – the limitations of her authority. She could do just about _anything_ in this base, so long as she didn’t countermand the Commanders. In public, where other agents would see, at any rate. Despite their clash yesterday, she was still a _power_ in Overwatch, regardless of if she wielded it – as she was now. Reprimanding agents? She wasn’t certain she could get away with that, considering it wasn’t medically related – even _if_ they started it – _especially_ since she had just gotten into trouble _yesterday_. But getting their names so the Commanders could deal with them? Absolutely within her power.

Regardless of how they butted heads – in public _or_ private – she knew her friends would take issue with how these men were behaving – even if it _wasn’t_ her that was on the receiving end. These were supposed to be men of Overwatch, after all.

Angela heard a chair screech behind her as McCree rose to his feet; for what purpose she wasn’t sure, considering the men were no longer any kind of threat, though she knew it was in some misguided attempt to assist her. She half turned, eyes cold and finger pointed in silent command.

While he had been the reason they had come over, they had pulled her into their little power play and tried to intimidate _her_ ; she was going to deal with it. Angela was certain that they had been bothering her to get a rise out of him – they hadn’t crowded _him_ , hadn’t even spoken to him, even though that was where their attention had laid – so his continued inaction would help this situation end more quickly. Once he was seated again, Angela turned her cold gaze back to the mute men.

“Your names?” She prompted, voice now icy. The three stammered out their names, one at a time. She pointedly shook their hands, as if they were meeting for an interview instead of _whatever_ this was.

“It was a pleasure to meet you three.” Her voice, her entire demeanor, was warm and pleasant again, as if she hadn’t just intimidated _them_ into giving her their names. “I won’t keep you from your meals any longer.” The three saluted her and promptly left the table. She watched them go for a long moment before returning to her seat.

“You–” Angela held up one hand to silence the cowboy as the other fished through the pockets of her coat – she always had a pen, where _was_ it? Once it was in her hand, she grabbed a napkin and wrote out their three names before carefully folding it and placing it into the more secure inner pocket of her coat. It was only then that she turned her attention back to regard McCree, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re _scary_ , y’know that?” Her lips twitched into a small smile, despite her remaining agitation at the whole situation. “Them eyes a’yours felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on me; the _hell_ was that?”

“That?” Angela waved a hand absently towards the space the three agents had vacated. “You think I don’t run into men like them any time I walk into my infirmary?” She had heard it all: no, it’s not so bad; I’m fine, it’s just a small scratch; you’ve _got_ to let me go; and on and on, hoping to convince, intimidate, or bribe her into giving a clean bill of health. At least here, in Overwatch, the agents couldn’t check themselves out against medical advice. She shrugged casually. “I make them listen – just like I made _you_ listen.” If she could bully Commanders into listening to her, what were a couple of agents? Nothing.

Angela was still looking over McCree appraisingly, mind only half on the conversation as she thought. Those men had thought they could chase her – or him, she wasn’t certain if it mattered which – off. Clearly, they had a problem with McCree, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She had noticed – on the few occasions before _now_ that she had taken her meals – that McCree always sat alone, aside from the guard that was no longer present. She wondered how much of it had been because of men like these three. That led into the many questions she’d formulated about McCree, but only one was important now that she’d been summarily dragged into the middle of it.

“So. Care to explain what all _that_ was about?” It was obvious that _whatever_ was going on wasn’t a secret, even if Jack and Gabriel had chosen _not_ to enlighten her, considering the three men that she’d just scared off.

“Seriously? Y’mean you _don’t_ know?” His voice was incredulous. Angela could easily determine that he had thought, because of her connections, she had more information than she _actually_ had. Which was a fair assumption, considering it appeared other agents were aware.

“I do not usually trouble myself with matters outside of the medical division.” She said in way of explanation, as if she _hadn’t_ read every report – which weren’t many – she had access to about the cowboy in front of her. He gave her an appraising look as he leaned back in his chair and considered her. Angela took another bite of her meal, content to wait out his silence. If he didn’t tell her she was certain she could get Jack to. McCree sighed, a resigned sound that told her she wouldn’t be going to Jack.

“Tell ya what: we’ll eat up an’ then we’ll talk about _that_ somewhere else. Alright?” Angela had a limited knowledge of the man before her, but she wasn’t at all worried to agree to a more private setting for what was clearly going to be a _talk_.

\---

‘Somewhere else’ turned out to be a green roof on the fifth floor. She didn’t even know it existed, but to be fair she didn’t know a lot about the above-ground levels of the Zürich base. Angela followed him along a path until they came to a bench. He gestured to it, a clear invitation if she ever saw one, as he stood a few feet away.

“D’ya mind if I smoke, doc?” Angela thought it was a filthy habit, but she wouldn’t stop him – or even make a comment, _this_ time – because she was certain he needed his vice to tell her _whatever_ it was he was planning to tell her.

“By all means.” She agreed as she settled on the bench; it wasn’t long before he was taking a long drag off a cigarette – and politely blowing the smoke away from her general direction. It was clear he was trying to figure out how to start, so instead she leaned back to look up at the stars while she waited.

It had been a long, _long_ time since she’d just looked at stars. Since she’d been outside, really, now that she thought about it.

“I’ve done some _bad_ things, doc.” McCree said finally, drawing her attention back down to him. The cigarette was mostly gone, but she was sure he had more. Smokers usually did.

“I had gathered, considering the handcuff. And the guards.” Angela agreed dryly; he huffed out a chuckle, as she’d intended. Something about the way he was standing told her he didn’t want sympathy or anything similar, not that she was sure she had any for a known criminal.

“So, you’ve done bad things.” She prompted when it was clear he wasn’t going to continue. He took a final drag before tossing the cigarette down and crushing it with his boot – seriously, he had spurs on his boots? Angela raised an eyebrow and stared at him until he bent down and picked it back up.

“Yeah. I’ve done some things.” He said finally, taking a seat in the grass across from her, knees up and arms braced loosely on top of them. Angela waited. She could be patient when she wanted to be; after all, some things had to happen in their own time. As a doctor she knew all about that.

“Y’ever hear of the Deadlock Gang?” It was vaguely familiar. Considering she generally didn’t follow the terroristic threats – they were less important than the agent names in the reports she read, at least to her – she didn’t really have any knowledge of them, which she was forced to admit.

“Huh. Well.” He seemed somewhat surprised but brushed past it. “I was one of the first members, a boss. Petty stuff at first, but then… well, we wanted t’be a _gang_ , y’know?” She didn’t, but she nodded anyway since he seemed to expect some sort of response. “So the _bad_ – the killin’ – started.” A pause, and then, “I got a lotta blood on these hands.” His head bowed slightly, hat shadowing most of his face, as he considered his hands, the way she sometimes did after a particularly rough set of nightmares.

“I have blood on my hands, too.” She offered when the silence became unbearable. The sound he made was equal parts humor, derision, and disbelief.

“Not like me, y’don’t.” His voice was dark and rough in a way that made him _dangerous_ , sending a brief flash of fear through her. She had plenty of practice of hiding her feelings behind a calm mask, so she knew it didn’t reach her face or body language. It helped that he hadn’t done _anything_ to her, even when he had opportunity to, and she doubted he would in the heart of Overwatch. He was just sitting there, watching her with a heavy gaze. Whatever he was looking for, she didn’t think he found it.

“Anyway.” He said, clearing his throat after a long moment, voice once again casual. “Me’n the boys, we’d steal an’ kill and a whole number of other things.” He leaned forward so his face was no longer hidden by the shadows, suddenly intense as he looked up at her. “But we didn’ allow no rape, doc; we weren’t – _I_ ain’t – like that.” Angela nodded.

“I believe you, McCree.” And she did, despite his earlier confessions of terrible crimes. It was impossible to believe he was capable of doing something so atrociously vile. Then again, it was hard enough to imagine him as a cold-blooded murderer, so she _could_ be wrong. Still, she _knew_ Gabriel would never have brought him to Overwatch – left him alone with her, even, guard or not – if there was even a _thought_ that he’d had those kinds of inclinations.

“Good, ‘cause it’s true. Done a lotta bad, but not _that_.” He paused to light up another cigarette, but he allowed it to dangle carelessly between his fingers instead of bringing it to his lips.

“We drew the wrong kinda attention from other gangs. Got bloodier an’ bloodier, ‘til we called a truce after a coupla years.” Angela didn’t think the man before her was old enough to have been in a gang war for a couple years, but she kept the opinion to herself. He took a drag, then sighed. “Started some smugglin’. Weapons, parts, hardware – you name it, we prob’ly could get it. Was good, for awhile.” He chuckled, a short, derisive noise. “’til Overwatch showed up, anyway.” Ah, this was where Gabriel’s strike team came in, she assumed.

“Brought some weapons, stuff we weren’t supposed t’have, an’ instead of a buyer we had Overwatch.” His eyes met hers in a hard, uncomfortable stare. “I’m a real good shot, doc. Real good. So, when th’ bullets started flyin’, well,” his voice was dark and rough again, menacing even, “I shot back.” And just as suddenly as his voice had turned, she knew what was coming, didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it coming before, but now it was – _he_ was – staring her right in the face. “Hit some of your people. I reckon one died, at least. Not sure ‘bout the others.”

It had been willful blindness, of that she was certain. She _knew_ that killers didn’t wear it on their faces and sleeves, that they looked like everyday people. She talked to Jack and Ana and Gabriel nearly every day, and they were killers one and all. She _knew_ that McCree had been brought back from a mission that had left three dead and more injured, and yet she foolishly – _blindly_ – didn’t put the pieces together, since Gabriel had insisted he wasn’t a threat. She had focused on the files of Jesse McCree, when she should have looked at the ones that had surrounded him for answers. She’d had all the pieces, and yet she hadn’t realized the picture they created. McCree nodded.

“There it is, _that’s_ th’ look.” He stubbed out his cigarette and climbed to his feet. “Almos’ everyone here’s been lookin’ at me, jus’ like that. I killed one o’ y’alls own, maybe more, and they won’ forget.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “ _You_ won’t forget.” She nodded. He was right, she wouldn’t. After a moment, he touched the edge of his hat once more.

“Have a good evenin’, doctor.”

\---

She stayed out in the air for a while more. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go, after all. No work, no hobbies. Her friends would probably work late into the night – not as late as she preferred, but still late. There was nothing waiting for her inside, so she stayed out in the dark, considering the words of Jesse McCree.

What do you do when the truth of a person doesn’t match the picture you’d painted of them?

All three of them had kept this from her – even Jack, who, from what she could tell, had had it out for McCree from the start. They’d known, of course. _Everyone_ had known. It was only because she was so far removed from others, from those that _weren’t_ the leaders that governed them all, that she hadn’t known, too.

She just didn’t know why. Was it so she wouldn’t feel threatened in her home – like that hadn’t _just_ happened yesterday? Because they didn’t _actually_ expect it to matter, since she wouldn’t – _shouldn’t_ – be around him, considering she practically lived on basement floor one? Because after _everything_ she’d done to prove herself, they still saw her as something too fragile and in need of protection?

She still didn’t have answers when she walked back inside. Her watch said it was just past eleven thirty. She supposed she should go upstairs and _pretend_ like she was going to sleep instead of stare at the ceiling for hours.

Angela glanced at the command room door as she walked by, but there was no telling if they were still in there or not. The heavy door was built purposefully to keep that room private from all prying eyes and ears – and not even _her_ ID would let her in, though she was permitted inside for meetings.

It didn’t take long to get from the command room to her own floor; not many people were using the elevators this late at night, even if it was still early for her. As she made her way down the hall to her room, she saw a familiar figure ahead of her walking in the same direction.

“Good evening, Gabriel.” Her voice was quiet enough to be respectful of the hour while also carrying forward to the man who was even now turning towards her.

“I thought you were asleep.” She noted he was just past her door, just as he noticed she was too far down the hall to have emerged from her rooms. “Where were you?” Angela heard the question he had carefully skirted: had she been disobeying their orders? She pretended like she didn’t hear the unspoken words.

“I was out on that green roof on the fifth floor. McCree and I were talking.” Her words were too casual for the talk they’d had.

“He told you, then.” It must have shown on her face – that look McCree had mentioned just a few hours ago, apparently. She nodded. “And?” He prompted as he closed the distance between the two of them.

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me?” The words were accusatory, hurt. Of all the revelations of the night, that was the only one that mattered to her in this moment. He had known that the cowboy had hurt, possibly killed, their agents – the agents she practically killed _herself_ to protect, whose deaths she held too close to her heart, who _she_ sent into the field just as much as he did – and he _hadn’t_ told her. It _should_ have been him and not some stranger that had picked up those pieces and put them into place.

“Because you already suffer enough, Angela. You wake up crying, sometimes _screaming_ , about people you’ve never even _operated_ on, people you haven’t even _met_ , because you think you failed them.” His gaze was piercing, because he _knew_ like no one else did about the despair she carried like a coat. He reached up to cup her cheek gently. “I didn’t want you to know that he was responsible for some of your nightmares, that a man who had hurt what was _yours_ was walking these halls.”

“Oh.” Because really, what was there to say? He had been protecting her, just like he would _always_ protect her if he could – if she’d let him. He’d known she’d have nightmares, she _always_ did, but he’d tried to mitigate them and give her some peace in the only way he could. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, considering that her ignorance had allowed her to let the cowboy get close. Angela knew, though, that it had come from a good place – as _so_ many of his attempt to protect her did, even if he did frustrate her with his methods. After a long moment he nodded, his hand pulling away as he tucked both into his pockets.

“Can we talk?” He’d never pushed her to talk about anything – at least, not anything that didn’t _directly_ correlate to her position in and responsibilities to Overwatch – had always let her take the time she needed, even if she _could_ stubbornly hold out for weeks or months on end. He just waited, patient, until she came to him willingly. That led her to believe that this wasn’t about her and whatever pain and misery she carried on her shoulders and in her heart or the cowboy they had just been speaking of. Angela flashed back to the night before, of his distraction. She imagined that – whatever _that_ was – was what this was about.

“Of course we can. Whatever you need.” Her response was near automatic, her upset about McCree falling to the wayside in the face of someone else’s needs. Angela wasn’t sure where he wanted to speak, her rooms or his own, so she waited for him to choose. It was a matter of moments before he was turning toward his own rooms, her following closely behind. She settled on his couch, legs tucked up and turned slightly so that she could watch him as he paced the floor of his room. The silence grew long enough to worry her.

“What happened?” It was the only thing she could think of. Something had happened. Her only certainty was that no one was hurt, but it was still bad enough that he wanted to talk about it. It wasn’t often he got like this and each time she felt like she was walking through a minefield with a blindfold.

“Angela–” He paused, midstride, and blew out a breath. “I–” She wanted to help him, but she had no idea where to start – no idea where _this_ started. Should she reach out – verbally, physically – or should she stay where she was? He cleared his throat and turned, just enough to look at her.

“They’ve selected a Commander for Blackwatch.” Of all the topics for him to be stressed about, this wasn’t one she had considered. Blackwatch wasn’t hers, wasn’t _theirs_ , not like Overwatch was, even if she could see their medical records as permitted. Rarely did she get to peek at the shadowy agents, though the late Commander Bianchi had – on very few occasions – asked for her assistance or advice on specific cases; she wasn’t sure if it was out of stubbornness or a lack of need that had made those requests so infrequent. Their medical division was not as large as Overwatch’s, so on occasion the covert ops needed to lean on their more public half.

She hadn’t expected to be told of the new Blackwatch Commander at all. That organization wasn’t hers, and the promotion and demotion of individuals within its ranks wasn’t something she ever intended to follow. She barely followed the ranks within Overwatch as it was – and that was only for the top three, her superiors, who to her were practically interchangeable in authority. She had expected that, in one far away day, a file would cross her desk and show her who the Blackwatch Commander was.

That Gabriel was bringing it up now, after he had politely told her it wasn’t her business only a few nights ago, told her she knew who it was – and there were only two people she knew that would be considered. That Gabriel was so stressed about it told her it was him.

“You’re the new Commander.” The statement was quiet – and though she _knew_ she was right, she hoped he would tell her she was wrong. If he was the Blackwatch Commander, that meant he was leaving for Rome – indefinitely. But even as she thought it, she knew it was selfish and shoved it away. Blackwatch needed a new Commander, and Gabriel was perfect for the job. He and Jack were best friends, like brothers even; having the two working as the heads of both organizations could only make things go more smoothly.

“I’m the new Commander.” He confirmed, unsurprised that she made the leap in logic.

“Congratulations, Gabriel.” The words were warm. While a small, selfish part of her wanted him to stay, she would _never_ allow him to see it; that was one secret she would keep from him, because he didn’t deserve to carry that weight. Angela could see that he was already stressed about this new position – she wouldn’t make that any harder than it had to be. He scoffed, a low and angry sound that she’d never heard him make before.

“ _Congratulations_.” The word was so bitter _she_ could almost taste it. “I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t _want_ this.” She isn’t surprised at the words, but she _is_ surprised by how angry he is.

Carefully, she rose and approached him – as one would a frightened animal – before wrapping her arms around him from behind. He stiffened, and she worried he would pull away from her. “People like us do not get to choose, Gabriel.” Angela whispered gently. “We do what is best for others, regardless of what it costs us.” She, of all people, knew of self-sacrifice – she had forced herself into a militarized organization that she had, at one time, openly criticized; earned her combat clearance, and had taken _bullets_ ; and worked long, sleepless hours, just so that others would benefit and be safer.

“You don’t _know_ what Blackwatch is – what it will make me become, what it will _cost_ me, to lead them. Overwatch is the light, and Blackwatch is the dark – and that’s where they’re putting me.” He turned, easily breaking her hold as he faced her. “You and Jack and Ana – you’ll all be here, with Overwatch and doing _good_. And I’ll be alone, doing the _ugly_ work that Blackwatch does.”

“Or maybe,” she reached up to touch his cheek gently, “maybe you will make Blackwatch better.” He made a noise that was pure derision.

“Blackwatch can’t be _better_. It does what it must – no matter what, regardless of how dirty, _whatever_ it takes – to get the job done.” She had never considered what Blackwatch did; oh, she knew they got intelligence, but she never considered the _how_. Quickly she shoved the thought away, as she still didn’t want to think of it even now. “I will be part of _that_. I will be in the dark and it will change me.” He reached up, hands grasping her shoulders _almost_ tight enough to bruise.

“I’m losing _everything_ , Angela.” The words were quiet and mournful. “Overwatch. My home. My family. You.” She knew that going to Blackwatch would cost him – would cost them all, in some way or another – but that he thought that he would _lose_ them? As if they were so easily tossed aside. She smiled tenderly up at him.

“Why do you have to lose those things? The only thing that changes is that you will wear black instead of blue. Your family will _still_ be your family – will still love you. _We_ will still be together.” She pressed up close to him, forcing him to release her shoulders or _truly_ hurt her, pulling her hand away to wrap around his waist. “You will _always_ have a home here. We aren’t so easy to get rid of, Gabriel.”

“I hope you’re right.” She had never heard him so defeated. She didn’t know how to fix this. The anger was gone, but in its place was a resigned despair that Angela didn’t know how to penetrate. He had rarely asked her for anything and she was failing him when it mattered most.

“I _know_ I am.” Angela turned her head, cheek pressed to his chest. His only response was to wrap his arms around her, face buried in her hair as he just breathed. “I’ve got you, Gabriel. I’m with you.” _This_ she could do – she could stand here until hell itself froze over if need be – but she couldn’t find the words to make it unnecessary.

She couldn’t say how long they stood there in the middle of his living area, but eventually Gabriel pulled away and turned away to a small refrigerator she hadn’t noticed the night before. He pulled out a beer, half turning and offering her one wordlessly.

“No, thank you.” Angela shook her head; she had never developed a taste for beer, preferring wine on the rare occasion she had a drink. He nodded, closing the refrigerator again and stalking back across the room as he opened it and dropped unceremoniously onto the couch. After a moment, she settled on the couch next to him.

“When do you leave?” The question was soft, asked after he’d taken a long pull from the bottle. It would be soon, she knew. The organization couldn’t be left without a leader for too long. Despite his misgivings, she knew he would go and do his duty. Just like her, he could do no less.

“The end of the month.” If he had told her that two days ago, she would struggle to figure out how far away that was. When she was _really_ in her work, she would be hard pressed to provide the date or even the day of the week. But, with her punishment looming over her, she had hung a calendar up in her office to track the days until it was over. Angela knew that the end of the month was just a little over a week away. She nodded, worrying her lip with her teeth.

“Is it alright if I stay?” She felt his eyes on her, as if surprised. Then again, after making an absolute fool of herself last night she couldn’t blame him for that reaction. Still, Angela was aware of a ticking clock in the back of her mind – and then he would be gone, off to Rome and Blackwatch.

“Yeah, of course it is.”


	15. Choice

Angela wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep before her communicator erupted into sudden, jarring life. Gabriel’s arms tightened around her as it woke him as well, but then loosened just as abruptly so she could roll over to fish it out of the pocket of her coat that sat on his nightstand. She felt the bed shift as he moved but paid him no mind.

“Dr. Ziegler.” Her voice was rough with sleep, even as she was coming more alert by the moment. A call at – she glanced at the clock on the other side of the bed, craning her neck slightly to see around Gabriel – slightly past four in the morning could only mean trouble. Just as the thought crossed her mind, she realized she could hear another communicator – Gabriel’s no doubt – chiming incessantly from the other room. 

“Angela.” Ana’s voice was crisp, and if it weren’t for the hour Angela could imagine that the sharpshooter hadn’t also been dragged from her bed. Still, it helped chase away the remaining lethargy. She forced herself to sit up as Gabriel slid from the bed and padded out of the room.

“What’s wrong – what happened?” She was all business – even if she had only gotten approximately three hours, maybe, of sleep. Angela could hear Gabriel’s voice, low and rich, as he answered his own communicator; presumably, Jack had called to alert him to whatever was going on.

“There’s been an earthquake in the Basilicata region of Italy.” At least it wasn’t a terrorist threat this time – that had to count for something, right? “Thousands are trapped in collapsed buildings; death and injury counts are currently unknown.” She nodded, as if the sniper could see her. “We are sending aid. We need you to pick the medical staff for the first response team.” 

“I will have a team picked and ready for you within thirty minutes.” There were no farewells; Ana disconnected, off to speak to the next person that needed to be awakened, as Angela tossed the communicator onto the bed and rose. She’d change back into yesterdays’ pants and sweater – she couldn’t afford to run around the base in Gabriel’s clothes, regardless of the time it would take to change – and then she would dash down to her office in the basement to figure out who they could afford to spare. 

It was a matter of minutes for her to swap one outfit for another in the bathroom, taking only a brief moment to splash her face with water; then she was tugging her coat back on, communicator once more in hand, and striding to the door that separated his bedroom from the living area. He was on the couch, still in his sleep-rumpled clothes – probably to give her the space to change in peace, as he would know it was necessary that she was out the door first in this. He glanced up, rose to his feet – and paused.

“You’re going, then.” It wasn’t a question; it was a foregone conclusion. Angela nodded with a sigh, raking her fingers through her loose hair to tug into a messy ponytail – it would have to do, for now. She knew that, even if none of the leadership core went, she would still be heading to Italy. While she couldn’t see combat without restrictions, humanitarian aid was completely within her authority as medical director.

“I cannot shirk my duty.” That ticking clock again, counting down the seconds until he was gone, was practically roaring in her mind – but it didn’t matter. As she had told Gabriel only hours previously, they didn’t get to choose. She would do her duty, she would fulfill her responsibilities, no matter the cost to her. “They will need me there.” 

It wasn’t bravado or any pride that sparked those words. Her skills, learned from being the head of surgery and then head of medical here, would help in the chaos that came with triage camps – and even if that weren’t the case, they would need all the skilled hands they could get. There was also the matter of the Valkyrie suit, which would be useful in reaching those trapped in the rubble. Quickly – time was ticking, ticking, ticking – she crossed the room to fling her arms around him.

“I have to go. You know I do.” She could feel the resignation in his very being, but he couldn’t refute the truth of her statement. Angela pulled back, rocking up onto her toes to press her lips against his – which was prolonged when he held her there with a fierce desperation, until finally he released her. 

“I should be back – before.” Angela told him as she shoved her feet into her heels, hoping that she didn’t accidentally break an ankle running around in them. “I can’t be gone too long; there are too many duties here.” She could only hope that her words proved true and weren’t just a gentle lie. They both knew that she would stay as long as she felt it was necessary, but he was kind enough not to point it out. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She called out over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

\---

In the hallway she called Gloria. And then called again when she stepped off the elevator because the redhead didn’t answer the first time. 

“Dr. Freeman.” Her voice was grumpy, clearly unhappy with being woken so early. Angela felt a small twinge of guilt at waking her, but she pushed it down harshly. They needed to move quickly, and she needed her hands to make that happen.

“It’s Dr. Ziegler.” She said by way of greeting. “I need you in the infirmary.” A quiet intake of breath and movement could be heard on the other side of the phone as she continued. “There’s been an earthquake in Italy, and it’s bad. We need to get supplies set aside, whatever we can spare without crippling the base.” They had to be prepared for their own wounded at any time, so they had to be careful with what they gave. 

“I will be there.” Angela hung up and then unlocked her office door, not bothering to shut it behind her as she hurried to her computer. She quickly had a roster of any medical personnel within their base – combat medics, nurses, and doctors – as well as any base within two hours of the earthquake. 

The challenge was balance. Any base had to be prepared for wounded, just in case, so they couldn’t be left understaffed. Angela had to choose people that could, hopefully, be done without. She managed to pull together four – five if she included herself – doctors, seven nurses, and two combat medics. There were a number that weren’t within Zürich itself, but she had managed to only pull from three locations. She felt guilty that the list was short – but she knew that this was just their first response from their closest bases. Angela had their names and locations printed out, and then she was out the door again. In her haste, she nearly forgot to lock the door.

While she was the authority in Overwatch for medical decisions, she still chose to wait until she gave the list to the others for review before calling them. She wasn’t sure if she was pulling too much – or not enough – and wanted to lean on their experience in this. Angela knocked loudly on the door and was admitted by Gabriel. She offered the list to him, hands lingering just a little longer than necessary, and then he stepped aside for her to pass.

“I’m not sure how many people Overwatch intends to supply in the initial response; let me know what you think, and I’ll adjust if necessary.” She explained, and then she focused her attention on the many screens on the far wall. “Where is this?” Destruction – by nature for once instead of people – was everywhere she looked. Her fingers itched to do something, but there was nothing here that she could fix. 

“Potenza and the surrounding cities.” That was Jack, who turned slightly to regard her as she approached. “How soon will your people be ready, Angela?” Ana was seated at the table just behind her, flipping through what looked like agent files; she’d have to glance through them before they could be approved – yet another thing to do before they could leave. She gestured vaguely towards Gabriel.

“Once he tells me the list is acceptable, I can put out the call for the initial response.” She considered briefly. “Here, in Zürich? Within the next thirty minutes hopefully. We’re putting together a preliminary medical supply drop as well, but I don’t know how long that will take. My staff in the Tripoli and Warsaw bases? An hour at least, probably a little longer.”

“It looks fine to me.” Gabriel set it down on the table next to her before coming to stand next to her as his gaze turned to the screens. She leaned against him and, after a moment, he uncrossed his arms to tuck her close to his side. Angela turned her attention back to Jack, trying not to squirm under his gaze.

“Did Gabriel tell you I intend to go?” The question was almost casual – though not casual enough to avoid the possessive tightening of Gabriel’s arm around her – but she was worried that there would be an argument that couldn’t be afforded. Jack opened his mouth as if to refute, and then paused. “It’s not a combat mission,” she said into the silence, “so neither you nor Ana have to go. This is one of the tasks you originally wanted me for.” He sighed at the reminder.

“Are you sure, Angela?” Jack glanced at Gabriel, a quick look that she wouldn’t have seen if she hadn’t been looking at him. She was surprised that Jack thought she was willing to be so selfish after how long he’d known her – especially considering his speech about her and Gabriel serving in the field together and letting feelings get in the way not so long ago. Then again, that was before Gabriel was leaving; it wasn’t like they ran missions with Blackwatch very often.

“I’m sure.” Angela told him firmly, resolutely. “I should be back in a few days; I only plan to be there for the initial surges. I have far too many responsibilities here to be gone much longer.” She knew everything would be fine if she were gone for weeks, if she chose – her staff weren’t incompetent after all. But there were tasks that she needed to do, especially in the research division, that would pull her back – and there was Gabriel to see off. 

Jack still looked uncertain, and she realized he wasn’t going to tell her about Gabriel’s promotion. Clearly Gabriel had wanted to break the news to her himself – and how could Jack know that he had done so only a few hours ago? 

“I know, Jack.” The words were tired. “I know. But I must go, regardless.” She smiled, just a little. “I appreciate your concern.” Then she was pulling away to the back of the room so that she could call her staff, the two men joining Ana to pick agents to help clear the rubble.

\---

All medical staff were alerted and making their own preparations; Angela hoped to have Zürich ready in just a few minutes. She just had to finish scrambling through all the files the other three had given her, rapidly approving – and in a few cases disapproving – the agents that were selected. She was surprised to see McCree’s name on the list and said as much.

“I want his first mission to be one that doesn’t require a gun,” was Jack’s gruff response. Fair enough, she supposed, considering what she now knew about the cowboy – and the reception of other agents. It might be best that no one was going armed for this; she’d hate to think of what ‘accidents’ could occur in the ruins. 

Just before she finished – less than a handful left – her communicator lit up again. Absently she answered it, eyes still on the files before her.

“This is Dr. Ziegler.” She set the communicator on the table next to her, where she could still hear it but maintain use of both hands. 

“It’s Dr. Freeman. The supplies are ready.” Angela nodded; it hadn’t even been an hour since she had roused the woman from her bed. She was nothing if not efficient. 

_“Verstanden._ I will tell the Commander. Please start working on a list of medical personnel for him for our future responses. You are in charge until I return.” She wouldn’t be able to put the lists together out in the field. Even if she had the time to do it – which she wouldn’t – she wouldn’t have access to the information. 

“I’ll get it done. Be careful out there, doctor.” As the line went dead Angela pushed away from the table. “Zürich base medical supplies are prepared. All agents are approved. I need to go make my own preparations.” She finished the cup of coffee – her second – that had been at her elbow; she was pretty sure Ana had brought it to her, but, honestly, she hadn’t been paying attention. After a quick glance around the room to ensure they didn’t need her further, her pause on Gabriel just a little longer than the others, she turned for the door. There were several things she needed to grab before leaving, and she refused to be the reason their response was delayed. 

“Call me if there is something you need.” Angela tucked the communicator into her pocket and left the command center. She took an elevator up to the eighth floor and rapidly made herself ready. Angela took the time to quickly fix her hair, brush her teeth, and change clothes. Normally, in the face of an emergency, she wouldn’t care – but she was to be representing Overwatch. Then she was yanking out her backpack and stuffing it with scrubs – who would trust a dirty doctor? – and other extraneous items she would need. Slinging the full pack over her shoulder, she was back in the elevator and down to her office in the basement.

Angela had barely closed the door before she was pulling off the scrubs she had just put on. She wasn’t yet sure if she were going to be in her Valkyrie suit when she deplaned or if she would remain in the scrubs. She was planning to ask Ana for an update when they were closer, and then she’d decide for certain. Since Angela didn’t exactly want to strip in front of the entire plane, she would need her catsuit on before they left if she decided to wear the Valkyrie suit. Angela had managed to tug the suit up one leg when the office door opened.

“Shit!” The door slammed closed rapidly. “Sorry, Angela.” Gabriel called through the door. 

“It’s fine.” She was too exhausted to be embarrassed – not that she had the time for it anyway. At least it was Gabriel, she supposed, and not Jack. “What did you need?” Angela doubted it was urgent, considering he came down instead of calling.

“Brought you some more coffee for the trip. I know you didn’t get much sleep.” Angela knew she would be leaning hard on caffeine in the coming days, so she was grateful for the gesture. Still she wasn’t fooled – and she doubted Jack or Ana was either; he had just found an excuse to come down. In fairness, there wasn’t much for them to do aside from monitor the situation. 

“I appreciate that.” Angela finished pulling the suit on. She realized then that she had forgotten to call Gloria – or anyone, really – to help her with it, which she would have remembered to do if she wasn’t running on three hours of sleep, even considering the two cups of coffee. Angela took a breath and reminded herself firmly that she didn’t have time to be uncomfortable. “Get in here and zip this up. Please.” 

Angela was turned to her Valkyrie suit, which still needed to be packed, when the door opened again. She glanced back to see him set a thermos on the desk as he moved around it. Angela could feel his heavy gaze on her back, but there wasn’t time. Time to be embarrassed or flustered or to examine how she felt at all about his eyes on her bared flesh. She pulled the Valkyrie suit’s stand away from the wall and turned it, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands and breath as he pulled the zipper up from the base of her spine to the back of her neck. 

“Thank you.” Apparently, she did have time to be flustered, considering how breathless she sounded. At least her hands were steady as she disengaged the mechanisms that held the wings in place. 

“Anytime.” She could hear the smug smirk in his voice. Gabriel didn’t move from his position as she turned to place them in the container that sat next to the stand. The chest plate went next, into a space between the two wings as she studiously ignored the weight of his gaze, followed by the halo-shaped navigation device. She opened a drawer for the two portable devices that would allow her to recharge the Valkyrie suit for extended use, as well as three power cells for her staff; these were tucked away carefully into the container as well. Finally, the remaining extra equipment was tucked inside and then she closed the container. Her staff would have to be carried separately, as there wasn’t space for it. 

At last she turned, looking up at Gabriel to tell him to _move_ as she reached for the pants she had tossed haphazardly over the back of her chair. The look on his face, hot and heavy, gave her goosebumps and made her pause, words dying on her lips, time be _damned._

“I hope you don’t plan to go out in that.” He said after a brief silence, voice husky; she knew, had it been any other time, he probably would have let that silence drag out. But he knew as well as she how important time was, so he purposely glanced away and stepped back.

“Of course not.” Her response was late, off balance, as she made quick work of tugging the scrubs and sneakers back on. “Are you planning to help me carry the case?” The question was rhetorical, since she knew it was too awkward to carry by herself. Another reason she should have called Gloria before changing.

“Nope.” Angela turned to remind him that they didn’t have time for this, but it quickly became confusion as he turned to open the door; she hadn’t thought he was serious. “Get in here.” The order was a harsh juxtaposition to the tension that had lingered in the room, but as two men came into the office – there was barely enough space for all four of them – she was completely professional once more. She was grateful he’d thought ahead for her, though some small part of her – the part that was Angela and not Dr. Ziegler – wondered how long those men had been outside her door. It didn’t matter. Angela quickly slung her pack over her shoulder and grabbed both the staff and the thermos he’d brought her so she could get out of the way.

“It’s very delicate, so please be careful.” Angela found herself explaining from the hallway as the two agents lifted the container up. “It needs to be placed in the storage area farthest from the cockpit, just by the loading ramp.” She instructed as they moved down the hallway. They all fit inside the elevator – it was suited for infirmary beds, after all – and she pulled out her keyring. Normally she’d pass them off directly to Gloria, but, since she’d dropped the ball there, she’d give the keys to Gabriel. 

“Get these to Dr. Freeman, will you?” She asked as he pocketed them. 

“Of course.” Then the elevator was open again and they were all shuffling out. Angela and Gabriel stepped out of the way of the agents and their cargo, but his hand on her elbow stilled her where she would have followed them. 

“Please, be careful.” They both knew it was a futile plea – she would run herself into the ground if necessary – but she smiled up at him anyway.

“I’ll do my best.” It was truth, but one that was meaningless when they both knew how bad she was at doing just that. Still, it was the only truth she could give. Instead of arguing, he pressed his mouth to hers, a quick peck goodbye, and then he was heading out the door to where the transport was. After a brief moments’ hesitation, she followed behind him.

Gabriel moved to talk to a very large man – he looked familiar, but then again everyone would be considering she’d just flipped through every single ones’ medical history not twenty minutes ago. She passed them to walk up the loading ramp and found her Valkyrie suits’ container strapped just inside, behind the last row of the aircraft – on the opposite side was a large container that she assumed contained medical supplies. Angela placed her bag and badge on the seat that was in front of her container and braced her staff behind the seats; if she decided to change, at least she wouldn’t be towards the front where everyone would be – generally – facing. 

Then, she walked the aisle to make sure all her staff had boarded; it would do no good to send medical relief if there was no one to provide it. She expected to see five of her people – one doctor, three nurses, and one combat medic. There couldn’t be more than thirty seats on the craft, so it didn’t take her very long to find all of them. 

She wasn’t the last person to board, for which her pride was grateful – but sidling past them in the aisle was annoying. Angela had nearly reached the loading ramp once more when another agent arrived: Jesse McCree, still wearing that hat of his. As she laid eyes upon him, she remembered the terrible words spoken under a dark sky as well as the folded napkin of names that was still inside the pocket of her medical coat and came to an immediate decision.

“Sit.” Angela gestured to the seat next to the one she’d claimed, the word closer to a command than an offer, and ignored his surprised look as he took in her effects on her seat. She could at least keep the trouble at bay; the last thing this mission needed was a fight on the aircraft. Right now, regardless of what he had done and how she felt about it, he was one of her agents – and since he was _hers,_ Angela would protect him as she would any of the others. 

“’preciate it, doc.” He wasn’t too foolish – or prideful – to turn away help from what was probably the friendliest face on the carrier. He slid into the seat next to hers as she stepped off the carrier once more. Gabriel was still there with the large man that she was assuming was to oversee the agents coming with them, considering that he was still speaking to Gabriel. 

“Ah, Lieutenant, this is Dr. Ziegler; she will be the one heading our medical response. Dr. Ziegler, this is Lieutenant Wilhelm; he is the one who will be coordinating the agents who will be helping search for survivors.” Angela gave the man a polite nod. They would be working together, then – especially considering she had every intent of searching for survivors as well. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Ziegler!” The boisterous voice was vaguely familiar. She’d ponder it later. 

“Likewise, Lieutenant.” She glanced between the two men, not really sure who she was reporting to in this moment. “I was coming to report that all of my staff are accounted for. We’re ready when you are, sir.” The last remark was directed to the Lieutenant. 

“That is good news.” She’d never had a problem finding him if this is how he always spoke. “Then we are all ready and accounted for, Commander.” The large man snapped to attention, waiting for the order to leave. 

“Look out for each other out there.” Angela wondered if he’d told the Lieutenant about how poorly she managed herself; she’d probably find out in about twelve hours. “Dismissed.” The German man turned and boarded the carrier, barely glancing back to see if the doctor was following. 

“Goodbye, Commander.” It wouldn’t do for someone to hear her being overly familiar – even if there was a large aircraft roaring to life next to them.

“Take care of yourself, Dr. Ziegler.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement, not agreement – they both knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t, agree – and then boarded the aircraft. She grabbed her staff – it would certainly be jostled loose by turbulence otherwise – before turning to sit as the craft began to rise. Angela saw that McCree had been kind enough to stow all but her badge away – probably to deter anyone from taking the seat. That allowed her to easily sit, staff braced between her knees and against her right shoulder, and reattach the badge to her coat.

“Here ya go, doc.” McCree offered her the thermos, which she hadn’t realized wasn’t with her pack, once she was settled. 

“Thank you, McCree.” He nodded respectfully, then leaned back – as much as the seats would allow, which was to say not at all – and pulled his hat down over his face. She envied the ability to sleep, because there was no way she would risk it on the transport; she had no idea how she would manage on the ground. Hopefully she could reach that point of exhaustion that didn’t allow dreams.

Resigned, she took a sip of coffee, already wishing she had more.

\---

“How does it look?” The aircraft had been mostly quiet – many of the agents had chosen to get sleep where they could – but as they drew closer to their landing point the more agents were awake; the expected landing time was in about fifteen minutes. As far as she could tell, McCree was still asleep.

“Not good.” Well, of course. “Triage camps have been set up in three different parts of Potenza, to supplement the two hospitals that are currently able to take in the most critical cases.” She nodded, worrying her lip as she thought. 

“Do we know how many critical cases are currently in the camps?” If the number was high, she would go to a camp; while the suit would be useful, her hands and staff would still be better suited to saving the severely injured.

“From what we know, many – if not most – of the current cases have been or are being moved to the hospitals. They are trying to get a few more clinics open for the critically wounded, but, as they weren’t built for such things, it will take time.” Angela nodded, not that the woman could see her.

“And the wreckage? How does search and rescue go?” Ana heard the unspoken question. While her medical prowess would undoubtedly save lives, so would her ability to drop into and from spaces others would not be able to reach for a long time – possibly too long to save those trapped. 

“As it was so late, many were still asleep when the earthquake hit the city. The triage camps are steadily receiving patients as more are found in the wreckage.” She sighed. “Many are working to find survivors, but you know how slowly they must work.” Angela considered. 

She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she would be strong enough to make a difference in moving rubble – if she were looking for physical labor, she should go to the triage camps. However, she was light – and with the Valkyrie suit she could save herself if a floor suddenly gave way, not that that would help her if a ceiling gave way above her. 

The largest frustration would be that she wasn’t capable of true flight. Fortunately, one of her recent upgrades to the suit was the ability to make small jumps without the help of an agent. While, with an agent, she could cover distances up to around thirty five feet, she could make a small jump without one to cover about six feet. 

“From what you can see, are there many places I would be useful?” Wreckage wasn’t necessary rubble and toppled buildings; it could be destabilized floors and stairs unsafe to walk along. There was a pause. Angela knew Ana was looking over the camera footage with a critical eye. 

“There are several buildings between the northeastern and central triage camps that may be safe enough for you to enter with the suit.” Angela quieted, thinking. The decision was hers; no one could say what the better course of action was. Could she save more lives by working with those who made it to the triage camps? She wouldn’t be able to save them all, but there was always a need for skilled hands in the camps. Or would it be better to go to those too far out of reach for help to reach them with any kind of swiftness? Even if she couldn’t pull some out – she wasn’t so foolish to believe she would be able to carry an adult out of a building even with the suit – she would be able to help them move to a safer location and give them medical attention or supplies.

“I’ll be going there, then. Can you send the coordinates?” Now, with so many still trapped, she would probably be more effective in the search. Later – either today or the next – she would probably stay in the triage camps. It was a decision that would haunt her, she knew. Regardless of the choice, she would always wonder what would happen if she had taken the other path.

“Of course. You take care of yourself. If you get into trouble, call me.” Angela had no doubt that the woman could manage to save her from almost a thousand miles away. 

“I will.” Conversation over, she tucked the communicator back into her coat pocket. Angela glanced at the cowboy next to her.

“Be honest; are you awake?” He was one of the few who would immediately notice her rise from her seat; she hoped to keep that amount minimal. 

“Yeah, ‘m up.” He lifted the hat slightly to peer at her. “Y’need somethin’?” She wondered if he had actually slept or had just sat there, but honestly it didn’t matter.

“Would you hold this?” Angela offered the staff to him. “I have to get up.” There was absolutely nothing on this plane for her to do, as far as he was aware, so she was unsurprised the look of confusion. “Just take it, please? And keep your eyes forward if you don’t mind.” While the catsuit covered her completely, it still _felt_ close enough to being naked – especially after Gabriel’s _look_ in the office nearly two hours ago – that she wanted as few eyes on her as possible. 

Angela rose, which did draw the attention of those nearby – especially when she ducked behind her seat to open the container that held her suit. She pulled the extra items, such as her boots and gloves, out and set them on her seat; there wasn’t much room back here and she still had to put the wings on the chest plate. 

With careful, practiced hands she pulled the chest plate out and tugged a blue-and-white overcoat into place before setting it back-up on the ground behind her. After a bump of turbulence – thank goodness it came _before_ she’d started pulling more equipment out – she worked on attaching the wings. She’d had enough practice that it only took her a few minutes to get it all together. 

Before she lost her nerve – this wasn’t the _first_ time she’d changed in the sky around others, and besides she _wasn’t_ naked – she pulled her sneakers and scrubs off, which she _also_ piled on her seat next to McCree.

 _“_ Th _’hell_ are you _doin’_ back there?” At least he was kind enough to keep his voice down – somewhat. 

“Changing, obviously.” Angela voice was dry as she grabbed her suit and rose, back to the rest of the carrier so that if people were staring at least she didn’t have to see it, balancing carefully in her socks as the aircraft swayed and bounced. “Watch your head.” She warned, unsure if the wings would hit him as she settled the armor on. 

The turbulence became choppier as they started moving towards the ground, so she focused on fastening the buckles and pulling the straps to tighten it securely to her body. Angela snapped the container shut to protect the halo; she’d equip it once she was off the plane. 

Then it was a matter of securing herself before the carrier landed; the seats weren’t designed with the space she needed in mind. Fortunately, the cargo space was. She eased herself to the ground again and leaned carefully against the Valkyrie container. 

“You comin’ back or what?” He demanded as she reached back to tug on the straps securing the container; she should be able to grip the strap to keep herself steady. The landing shouldn’t be terribly rough – it wasn’t a combat zone, after all – so her low center of gravity and the brace should be plenty to keep her safe.

“I’m staying back here until we land. Would you pass me my boots?” She might as well pull them on while she was sitting. 

“Are you outta your mind?” He demanded, half-rising and turning so he could glare at her. “You – what in the…” Angela could imagine he was unprepared for the sight of her sitting cross legged on the floor – with wings. 

“See? I will be fine. My boots, please?” Dumbfounded, he grabbed the boots and passed them to her. “Thank you.” While he stared at her, still trying to figure out why she suddenly had wings, she tugged the boots on and zipped them up to the knee. Briefly she hoped the gloves and boots would provide enough protection from everything she was going to be climbing through. 

“You may want to sit down. We should be landing any moment.” Once he sat down, she took pity on him. “This is my Valkyrie suit. It’s the reason why they gave ‘someone like me’, as you so kindly put it, a gun.” 

“So, you’re gonna fly ‘round in that thing?” He responded after a long moment. She pushed her arm through the strap, winding it around once so that she had a stable, firm grip.

“Not quite, unfortunately. But it will be safer for me to look for survivors in the buildings that are standing.” The technology was there for true flight, but she hadn’t yet managed to adapt it to the Valkyrie wings. 

“Thought you were comin’ to be a doctor.” She laughed softly; as if she weren’t a doctor right now, sitting idle. 

“I’ll–” She nearly bit her tongue off as the carrier landed, bouncing once before settling firmly. “I’ll be doing that, too.” Then she was rising so she could climb out and stand out of the way of the agents that were also filing out. 

\---

Things moved quickly once they were on the ground. She had to brief her staff and give them instruction. Dr. Novák was to distribute the medical personnel as he saw fit. Until she returned to the triage camps, he was the one they should defer to; still, she was available to them via communicator as she _was_ the one leading the medical response. Then she was on the carrier, equipping the rest of her Valkyrie suit and getting the supplies she needed on the ground. When she walked off the aircraft a few minutes later, she had a pack with a field triage kit, a change of clothes, and her power supplies hanging precisely between her wings.

Her hand dropped to the pouch at her waist and pulled her communicator out. Angela had made the decision on the ground in Zürich to shield McCree. Now, on the ground in Italy she was about to make that same decision – but she wasn’t certain if it was the right one. It was one thing to make that choice while surrounded by others and quite another to make it in a disaster zone. 

“Reyes.” He sounded like he was flagging. Hopefully, he and the other two could rotate sleeping until they were all more rested. Just because she was going to be miserable out here didn’t mean they had to be, too.

“Do you trust McCree?” She cut straight to the point. Angela knew he trusted the cowboy, _knew_ it by the way he had no problems with her being around McCree – not even that first day in the infirmary – but she still needed to hear it.

“I trust him.” If he was surprised that she was calling about the cowboy, it didn’t show in his voice. “I wouldn’t have brought him to Overwatch if I didn’t.” Gabriel was the one who had fought against him and had seen something worth saving, something that allowed Gabriel to trust him despite the bullets and the blood and the death. 

“With your life?” Angela challenged. 

“Yes.” The answer was almost immediate, which made her wonder what had happened in America. It didn’t matter right now, though. 

“With _mine?”_ She knew that he valued their lives differently – that he’d gladly take any wound to keep her safe, even if it were a fatal one. Where he might trust the cowboy with his own skin, he may not trust him with hers; his answer would seal her decision. 

“Yes.” The answer came after a short, considering pause, as if he were weighing her words. “He’s not going to hurt you.” He sounded confident. “Why?” The word was as cautious as it was curious.

“You know why.” Angela started winding her way through people, looking for the loud German man and the cowboy. She would be surprised if he had paired McCree off with anyone yet; except for malicious reasons, no one wanted to be around him. Gabriel was still silent, so she sighed. “It will be less trouble this way.” 

“Jack’s not going to like it.” She huffed out a laugh. Since when had she let what other people liked or disliked color her decisions?

“He can yell at me all he likes when I get back.” Or not; maybe if she came back in one piece he’d see there was no reason to scold. “I have to go. Get some sleep; you need it.”

“I will. Don’t worry about me.” Angela sighed.

“I worry about everyone.” It was the reason she had called, after all. “I’ll talk to you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about this chapter; I agonized over it for the last couple of days because I wasn't so sure.


	16. Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the fact that they are in Italy, I have used some Italian (from Google translate. If anyone has better spelling / verbiage, please let me know and I will correct right away!) throughout. I did try to make it sparing, and every phrase has a number that corresponds to the end notes for ease of access.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Infant death.

Even though they had deplaned not fifteen minutes prior and the man had possibly the _loudest_ voice she’d ever heard, it still took her some searching to find the Lieutenant. Angela waited patiently while he finished giving orders to a group of men before snatching his attention and pulling him away from the agents still waiting for orders.

“Lieutenant– ” She began, but he cut her off.

“Call me Reinhardt, please! We are comrades, are we not?”

“Reinhardt,” she corrected smoothly, staying on track, “please tell me we brought comm units – and that there is one I can use.” Angela had absolutely no idea what equipment had been brought along but having a hands free mode of communication would make her life a _lot_ easier.

“Ah, yes! Captain Amari told me you would be needing one.” Angela silently thanked the woman, who always seemed to know exactly how to assist. Reinhardt turned to a container that was about half the size of the one for medical relief and pulled out the technology for her.

“Thank you.” As she put the unit into place she continued. “I left personal effects on the carrier. Will you please let me know where they get stored?” Not only would it be _extremely_ difficult to get the Valkyrie suit home without the container, she knew she would need a new change of clothes sooner rather than later.

“Of course! I will make sure they are taken care of.” He assured her. She nodded her appreciation.

“Did Captain Amari also tell you that I will be helping in the wreckage as well as in the triage camps?” The large man nodded. “Right now, I’m going into the ruins. I will need an agent to go with me, just in case.” They both turned, looking over the remaining handful of agents that had not yet been given orders.

Exactly as she’d expected, McCree was still there, standing apart and appearing bored.

“I will take Jesse McCree.” She said before the Lieutenant was able to make a choice for her. He looked surprised, and then proved he _could_ be quieter as he turned to face her fully.

“Are you sure, doctor?” No, not really – she was winging it on caffeine, adrenaline, and pure stubbornness – but Gabriel had assured her it would be safe. “You know how he came to us. I don’t trust him.” The same could be said of pretty much _every_ person in Overwatch, except Gabriel.

But her duty was to Overwatch and to the people of this city. Taking McCree would serve both purposes: it was her honor to shield her agents from what harm she could. Angela knew that, should McCree be paired with other agents just now, there would be harm of some kind. That would cause unnecessary – and unacceptable – delays that could cost supplies at the least or lives at the worst.

Besides, she was never one to take the easy path if it was the wrong one.

“I trust Commander Reyes, and he trusts McCree.” Angela told the man firmly. Gabriel had put his reputation on the line for a known gangster who had probably killed an Overwatch agent and had _definitely_ put bullets in others. “I just spoke with him; he knows what I am planning to do.” The large man was clearly torn between a want to keep her safe – probably his own personal morals and possibly some order shoved into him by Gabriel – and letting her go with the cowboy.

“Look, Lieu– err, Reinhardt, I understand. _No one_ trusts him, and that will cause problems. What happens when he goes off with other agents?” Angela let him consider for just a moment before continuing, waving one hand. “Distractions happen. Either someone will be hurt – which will cost medical supplies and attention that are desperately needed elsewhere – or they will be too busy arguing to look for survivors.” Just like they were – not quite – arguing now.

“And if he hurts you?” Angela shook her head.

“He will not. He has already had an opportunity and look,” she spread her hands, “I am still here.” Angela dropped her free hand to the side. “You and everyone else will know exactly where I am. You can call, any time to check on me. Send agents to work near or with us if you like.” She paused, considering. “I might be busy, so if I don’t answer your call, call again after a few minutes. If I don’t answer then, call Captain Amari.” She hoped that call wouldn’t have to be made.

“I do not like this.” He grumbled as he turned back to the agents.

“There’s nothing about this situation to like.” Angela agreed blithely, turning with him. “But we can do our best to protect our agents from what we can, all the same.” Reinhardt glanced at her sharply, before nodding in resigned agreement and beckoning the cowboy over.

\---

They left the camp a short time later. McCree was sporting a new pack and a pair of gloves. He had grumbled when nearly all her supplies went into it along with his own. Unfortunately, her pack was full to bursting with tools and medical supplies. If it wasn’t necessary for her to have a few rations – just in case she was trapped – she wouldn’t have taken any at all, for fear that she would give away something she _knew_ she needed to someone who she would have to leave behind in the rubble.

It was easy going now – people had cleared out space around the triage camp, and paths were being formed like deer trails in a forest where necessary – but she knew very soon there would be rough patches and blockages. The area she planned to work in would have, in normal times, been a twenty or so minute walk. Now it could take up to an hour if the wreckage were bad, especially considering she would stop to give aid to anyone they came across.

Angela could feel his gaze boring into her from where he walked just a few steps behind her. Perhaps she should be more concerned with him behind her, but she refused to glance back; let him think she was indifferent to the threat he posed. Instead, she let the silence grow between them. Angela guessed about fifteen minutes passed – she wasn’t the best judge of time – before he couldn’t take the quiet any longer.

“Why’d ya pick me?” Angela nodded slightly, to herself. That was the question she had expected to be gnawing at him. It had been clear to anyone with eyes or ears that Reinhardt was very much opposed to the cowboy going with her, so it had obviously been her that had chosen instead.

“Why wouldn’t I choose you?” She managed to keep her tone curious, almost bored. As if she had _no_ reason to avoid choosing him, of being alone with him. As if, despite Gabriel’s assurances and her resolve in the camp, she wasn’t at least a little nervous. Oh, she knew the Lieutenant was going to send men after them – she was no fool – but for now it was just the two of them.

“B’cause I got Overwatch blood on my hands.” Angela could tell he was exasperated. It was a fair enough point, after all. Here she was, practically defenseless even _with_ a weapon, alone with a man that had probably killed one of their own. Still, she kept moving, dodging around loose debris as she went.

“Yes, you were very clear about that last night.” She agreed instead, trying to make her voice dry and failing. While she could argue that she also had the blood of Overwatch on her hands, she could never compare it to his – no matter what her nightmares thought. Where she failed to fix the wounds, he had been the one to create them. She felt the weight of his gaze on her again like a cloak.

“Y’ain’t worried that I might hurt ya?” There was incredulity laced with an aggressive bravado that had her glancing briefly over her shoulder at him. She didn’t see anything to worry about. He was just the same as he’d always been, except now there was dust and dirt coating him. She tripped over a loose rock, forcing her attention back to their environment instead of the cowboy.

“If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so last night.” Had he acted on that roof, no one would have known she was injured, or worse, until Ana called hours later and failed to get a response. There was no reason for anyone to go looking for her – even Gabriel had assumed she was asleep instead of somewhere else in the base.

“I _did_ hurt you last night.” Angela flinched slightly, body stiffening briefly as the quiet words struck home before nodding in agreement, acknowledging the point. He may not have landed a physical blow on her the night before, but he had managed an emotional one – and they both knew it. She blew out a breath and purposefully relaxed.

“You won’t hurt me.” The words were much more confident than she felt. Before last night, she could say with complete certainty that she was safe in his company. Now, there was that seed of doubt that nothing but time could uproot.

Before he could say anything, footsteps approached from ahead. Two men were bracing a third as they stumbled and staggered along. She hurried ahead to meet them, leaving McCree to follow in her wake. They were so exhausted by the events of the day that they didn’t even seem surprised by her suit.

Her eyes swept over them critically; the only serious wound she could see was the broken leg of the man in the middle. They all had mild bruising and cuts that had already crusted with blood. She didn’t have anything to splint the leg with – and her staff wouldn’t help bones – so she was forced to step aside instead of assist.

“ _Ci sei quasi_.1” Angela told them after a moment, pointing towards the way they had come from. “ _Altri dieci minuti in questo modo._ 2 _”_ That seemed to envigorate them some, which led her to believe they weren’t searchers – at least, not officially. Perhaps one of them was just a good samaritan trying to help his neighbors. She watched them as they shambled farther away, McCree at her elbow. After a long moment, Angela made herself turn. Before she could move, McCree grabbed her elbow, forcing her to pause to look at him.

“Seriously, doc.” The words were low, quiet. “Why’d ya pick me?” She spun to face him fully, dislodging his loose hold on her arm, one hand going to her hip and eyes flashing upwards to meet his own.

“I chose you,” the words were clipped, precise, so that there could be no mistake, no misunderstanding, “because you are an agent of Overwatch.” He looked at her in absolute disbelief, but she continued before he could argue or disagree. “Because you are an agent of Overwatch, _you._ _are._ _mine_.” The last three words were firm, possessive – but in this moment it was nothing but truth. She ignored the look of surprise at the words and continued.

“My duty – my responsibility, my _burden_ – is to protect what is _mine_ from harm.” She had learned, in this past year, that she was willing to do a _lot_ of things she thought she would never be capable of in the name of her duty. She would go into battle, would run through bullets and carnage, would watch people die, would shoot a gun, would be shot so others would not. Would go into the wreckage of a city with a known criminal, who could certainly overpower her if he chose. She turned away from the stunned cowboy.

“If that is everything, we need to keep moving.”

\---

Angela checked their location to the coordinates she’d been given. Navigation in this mess was next to impossible, but it appeared that they had found a set of the buildings Ana had located. They had passed many searchers and victims as they went; Angela had paused more than a few times to provide medical care to wounded, sometimes in the form of the staff and sometimes just with her hands. As they made their way, two more agents had joined them. She had caught the looks of disdain thrown the cowboys’ way, but otherwise they held their peace.

There were people here, too, digging through rubble to try to clear a path through to an apartment building that was now sitting at an angle as it rested against its’ neighbor. The additional agents moved forward to assist those digging, though one paused and turned halfway when McCree stopped at her side; he was here as her partner, after all.

“Can I trust you?” She asked him as she assessed the building she was about to climb into, pointedly ignoring their watcher. There was rubble blocking most of the first floor, leaving no easy access to get inside. He chuckled.

“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” He wasn’t wrong, but now that she was faced with the actual task it seemed prudent to ask.

“Just answer the question.” She tried to snap, but the words were just tired. Angela stepped to the side and flexed the wings, making sure everything was operational.

“Y’can trust me, doc. Honest.” She looked at him, assessing, then nodded. Between his word, Gabriel’s promise, and the two agents sent to watch him, it would have to be enough.

“I’m going into that building.” Angela pointed. He was smart enough not to ask how she planned to get inside. “Try to get a path to the doors; if I can, I will bring people down that way.” Assuming that anyone was in any shape to move – or the stairs were still stable.

“I will keep my radio open, so that if something should happen to me you will know.” If she suddenly fell and lost consciousness, she wouldn’t be able to tell him. It might become annoying – to him, at least – when she started talking to people inside, but it was better than her sustaining injury and him being left unaware.

“And if somethin’ _does_ happen t’ya?” McCree demanded.

“Call Captain Amari and then Lieutenant Wilhelm, in that order. If you can’t get the Captain, call Commander Reyes.” Hopefully, he could avoid calling Jack; the last thing he needed was a call from his _least_ favorite person telling him that she was hurt. “Then try to get into the building and find me – carefully – unless they order otherwise.”

“Alright.” He ambled forward towards the small group of people, before pausing to point at her; vaguely she noticed the agent tense and reach for a weapon that wasn’t on his hip. “Don’ let _anythin’_ happen t’ya. The Commander’ll shoot me if y’do.” Angela would have reassured him that no, Jack wouldn’t shoot him because this was _exactly_ what she had told them she was going to be doing – but he might hold McCree accountable anyway based on the simple fact that he was McCree.

“I will do my best.” She promised, as she always did, looking back to the building. If she climbed some of the rubble, she was pretty sure she could use the Valkyrie suit to access the second floor. Hopefully, the floor would be stable when she landed, or this was going to be a very short lived trip. Angela climbed ungracefully up a promising pile of rubble and balanced precariously at the top to assess the distance. It would be a very near thing, but she was fairly certain she could make it.

She took a breath and then leaped.

\---

Courtesy of the door breaching tool she had managed to snag from the various items Overwatch and other organizations had sent for relief, she was able to access all apartments in the building. There was no one left to save on the first or second floors. It appeared most people managed to escape, but she was relatively certain some of the caved in ceilings hid corpses. There was nothing she could do for the dead, so she turned away.

Angela continued to move carefully down the hall of the third floor, calling out for anyone who could hear, listening for any kind of response. The floor was more unstable here; the angle of the building was becoming more obvious, and it was making the already unstable ground more dangerous. That just made her more determined in her search. She opened another door and stepped inside.

“ _Ciao_ 3?" Angela carefully moved through the apartment, ignoring the scattered trinkets and shattered glass that littered the floor. She entered a bedroom, looked dispassionately through the space to ensure no one was hiding or incapacitated, before moving to the next. Angela opened the door to a second bedroom and paused. Inside was a boy, no older than nine, beside what appeared to be the remains of a bed – and, presumably, his parents. It wasn’t easy to tell, as the roof had collapsed into the space next to him.

“Oh, no.” Angela had seen horrible things as a doctor, but this tableau was something else entirely. Rarely did her work cause her to deal with children – it had, in fact, been quite a while since she had even _seen_ a child – and the sight of one in this place just made it more terrible. Resolutely she shook off the horror – there would be time for that later – and picked her way across the unstable room to the boy. He didn’t appear to be hurt, aside from a few cuts on his hands from where he probably tried to dig through the rubble for whomever had the misfortune to be in this room during the earthquake.

She kept her voice soft as she spoke to the boy. She managed to pull a name – Luca – from the shellshocked boy after some coaxing. As Angela applied the staff, removing the cuts on his hands, he began asking her to help his parents. She put her staff to the side and convinced the boy to move to the hallway, where the ground was more stable, before she started moving what debris she could in search for some sign that his parents were still alive.

Angela was forced to concede defeat when she found a lifeless hand.

Desolate, she turned away to leave; she had to get the boy, at least, to safety. Luca was crying now, begging her to find his parents, and it broke her heart. In the end, she was forced to carry the boy out of the room. It took both of her arms, so she left the staff behind – and hoped there wouldn’t be another cave-in before she could return for it. Down the stairs she went until she found the room with the window she had used to enter; there was no way those outside had cleared a path to the ground exits.

“McCree, I need you.” With the comm unit open, she didn’t have to reach up to summon him – fortunate, because she didn’t have a hand to spare with around fifty pounds of a sobbing boy in her arms.

“Y’alright?” Came the almost immediate response as she approached the window. It looked like the rubble she had climbed was still there, so she would try to float further out to land on something stable.

“I’m fine.” Angela confirmed, lifting one foot up to rest on the windowsill. “I’m coming out.” She pulled her wings back, ducked her head out of the window, and pushed into the air in one smooth motion. Moments later she was on the ground, McCree moving to join them.

“Until we can send him to one of the camps, I need you to look after Luca here.” She had set the boy down once they had landed – he wasn’t _light_ by any means – but he was still pressed against her side, one of her hands gently resting on top of his head. McCree looked down at the poor boy.

“His parents?” The cowboy asked gruffly. She shook her head. “Damn. That’s rough.” The man sighed. “Yeah, I’ll keep him outta trouble ‘til we can figure somethin’ out.” Angela turned to the boy, crouching so she could put both hands on his shoulders.

Gently she explained that he needed to stay here with McCree until they could send him somewhere safe – and that poor McCree here didn’t speak Italian, so please be patient with him. Fortunately, some of the people here could speak English, so there shouldn’t be any issue in translation when it became necessary.

“Have they given you any trouble?” She asked as she straightened, voice low, eyes darting to look at the two watch dogs. One had stopped his work to watch the cowboy, making no attempts to be covert about it. He didn’t even glance back to see who she was talking about.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, doc.” Angela rolled her eyes; she couldn't care less about his – or the other agents’ – egos.

“This is not the time or place for a fight.” Really, she didn’t think _any_ time or place was appropriate, but if she had to pick one, she’d rather they did this in one of Overwatch’s bases – when people _weren’t_ counting on them. “If they are being problematic, I need to know.”

“It’s jus’ talk; nothin’ to worry yourself over.” Angela wasn’t sure that he was telling the truth – she didn’t know him well enough to say otherwise – but she nodded all the same. She hadn’t heard anything that had probably been said. Unless they were brawling in the streets, there really wasn’t anything she could do.

“If that changes, tell me and I will take care of it.” She knew she normally had zero authority over the agents of Overwatch, but out here on medical relief she was the one with the highest authority. If the watchdogs decided to cause trouble, she would get involved directly – whether anyone liked it or not.

\---

Angela had lost track of time – a normal habit of hers. While most apartments had been empty, one way or the other, she had managed to find quite a few people trapped within the building. Some were adults, which she couldn’t carry out of the window. These were the ones she led to the stairwell in the hopes that the door would open and the ground team could help them down before the building collapsed.

These adults were usually the ones who were damaged in some serious way – a bone was broken, they were trapped under rubble they couldn’t move alone, et cetera. In one especially horrific case, she had found a woman cradling what remained of her baby, which had been crushed by the ceiling that had fallen upon it. Angela gasped in horror, a sharp, sudden sound that she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to.

“Doc?” McCree’s urgent voice came through the comm unit in her ear, cutting through her shock. “Doc, are you alright?” She took a moment to collect herself, to not allow her voice to shake. He needed to believe her and sounding panicked would not help anything. “Doc, _answer_ me!”

“I am fine, McCree.” Her quiet response was steady as she approached the poor woman. “I was just startled.” A mild word for the scene before her, but he didn’t need to know about that. He just needed to know she was unhurt.

“Y’sure?” He sounded much calmer now that she had spoken. Angela smiled, a brief, fleeting thing. Clearly, she had nothing to fear from him if he was so concerned for her survival. Then again, he could just be worried about Jack executing him.

“Yes, McCree.” Angela managed to remain patient. “I need to go now; I have a woman to tend to.” He made some noise of assent, and then the comms went quiet again. She checked the woman over but couldn’t find any injuries to her. The woman didn’t even appear to notice that Angela was there. Despite her best efforts, Angela could not get through enough to convince the woman to go downstairs – and she wasn’t strong enough to force her out by herself. Hopefully, the ground crew would be able to get her out. She was forced to move on and find more survivors.

She moved as quickly as possible, healing what she could and splinting what she couldn’t – there was _plenty_ of wood and cloth laying around for that use. Then she would lead, or support, them to the stairwell. She worried that it would be too dangerous for her to try and help them down – the combined weight might be more than the increasingly dangerous stairwell could handle – but she couldn’t just leave them there. So, painstakingly, she helped them down the stairs; in some places they were forced to skip steps or support themselves on injured flesh, and in other places a banister or step would give out and nearly send both down to their deaths. Each time she went to go back up, she worried that _this_ time the stairs would collapse completely and leave her with no means to bring the injured down.

Then there were the children. Mostly they were with a surviving parent, thankfully. It was easier to convince those children to leave with her when a parent was there to urge them out of the building. All but one of those adults went down the stairs with her once their child – or children – was safely down, and that was because he was so thoroughly trapped that there was nothing Angela alone could do to dig him out. Once the people below managed to dig out the entrance, she could point them in his direction and hope it would be enough.

At some point she had fielded a call from Reinhardt; she was surprised the reports from his agents wasn’t sufficient. She had been in the middle of splinting a woman’s leg so that they could go downstairs, but she still managed to pull the device out to speak to him. After reassuring him that, no, those pained sounds were of a woman trapped in a building and not her – as if his agents wouldn’t tell him if she were injured, and besides they sounded _nothing_ alike – Angela managed to get him to disconnect. Two other calls had come through from her medical team, which were easily handled as she threaded her way through the building; she was grateful that there wasn’t more. She had her hands full enough, climbing through the wreckage.

\---

The ground was at a severe angle now as she stood on the seventh floor of the building, one hand on the wall next to her to keep her steady. Angela was exhausted from the climbing and from lack of sleep, but that wasn’t important. There were more people to find. Fortunately, this was the last level of the building, and then she could take the rest that McCree had been pestering her about for the last hour. He had stopped her a few hours prior, too, to eat and drink something before she collapsed. He didn’t understand that, for her, it was too soon for such a possibility; she was capable of many seemingly impossible feats when the death of others was the other option.

“We’ve got the door open.” McCree’s voice sounded in her ear. She breathed a sigh of relief – that was good, even if it had taken longer than expected. Then again, everyone was working on adrenaline at this point, so maybe they were right on time all things considered. Regardless, the people below would be safer once they were out of the building. As she had worked, she felt the building sway in the wind and groan ominously. A handful of times Angela heard the unmistakable sound of collapse – and she had been terrified that this time, when she went to the first floor, it would be caved in and filled with dead. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened – which only made her hope that the collapse was in a room she had already cleared and not one with a living person still within.

Angela made her way through the apartments on the seventh floor, finding no signs of life as she dragged herself along. It was a challenge: between the floors’ slope and the various missing or otherwise unstable patches, she was barely able to make it through all the rooms. Still, she wouldn’t leave until all the rooms were cleared. In the second-to-last apartment, she found a small girl of about five. There was a decent break in the floor separating the two of them.

" _Rimani li 4_," Angela told her, turning to look in the second room, " _torno subito_ 5." She was fairly certain she wouldn’t find a living parent within, but she still had to be sure. Angela pushed the door open – and was surprised. There was no one within, but there also wasn’t any damage done to the room. The bed was still standing, but there was no adult in sight. 

What kind of person left their child behind? It didn’t matter now. She turned around to collect the girl that had been abandoned in this nightmare. The girl was still where Angela had left her, sitting against a wall with her knees up to her chest. She made the jump across with a little help from her suit and was grateful to find the floor stable – if angled – to make her landing smooth.

" _Facciamo uscire di qui_ 6." She extended a hand to the girl. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to snatch her up to get out of the building; that was well within her power and she would if she had to. But she had already dragged one crying child out. If possible, she would like this one to be accepting of the trip.

After a moments’ hesitation, the girl took her hand. Angela hoisted her to her feet, and then lifted her up. The girl was a little heavier than expected, but it would be doable; it helped that the girl had wrapped her arms around the doctors’ neck, taking some – not much, but it was more than nothing – of the burden from Angela’s arms. It was a little awkward, balancing the girl and her staff, but they managed the jump. 

On the far side, Angela set the girl down but kept a hold of her hand. She would go first, Angela explained, but she would keep a hold of the girl so she would not fall. Then, they were winding their way out of the apartment. As they carefully moved, Angela questioned her. What was her name? Lucia. Where were her parents? She wasn’t sure where her mom was – Angela got the impression that the mother wasn’t around – but her dad had been at work, he’s a policeman, so she didn’t know where he was right now either.

Well, at least she hadn’t been purposefully abandoned.

When they reached the hall, Angela paused to consider for a moment before turning to the final apartment. Best to clear it now while she was up here, and then she wouldn’t have to come back up. Carefully they made their way up; it was much more difficult now, with only her staff to brace herself and a child to steady, but it was doable. 

She left the Lucia in the doorway. The doctor had handed Lucia her communicator, with a firm instruction to hold this and remain _right there_ , so Angela could comb through the apartment quickly without endangering her further by walking the unstable floors. Every few moments, she would glance back to ensure that the girl was still where she left her. Every time she found Lucia leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, one hand clutching the communicator to her chest, and watching her with fearful eyes as if Angela were going to disappear. Angela always gave her a small, reassuring smile – as if they _weren’t_ seven stories up a collapsing building – before turning back to her task.

The apartment was empty, though it did appear that everyone had either escaped or hadn’t been present at all. It was reassuring even as it was frustrating, considering the child she had left in the hall. Angela walked the few steps to exit the small, internal hallway, before looking to the girl who was still waiting for her. Instead of walking the winding path through the apartment, Angela flew to her communicator. This ended up being a good thing, as the building shuddered again and the roof above Lucia was coming down. Angela turned her flight into a tackle, yanking the girl off her feet and carrying her into the dubious safety of the hallway.

Without pause, Angela turned and practically slid down the hallway, using her wings to slow her or go over holes as needed. Fortunately, it appeared just that section was falling; the building had quieted once more. Now she had to take the stairs, which would be a feat in and of itself with a child in tow. After all the people traversing the stairs, they were quite ragged indeed. There were sections of stairs missing – which would be much easier to drop to than they had been to climb up – as well as unsteady steps and missing banisters.

Lucia was clearly terrified – especially when she spotted the missing chunk of stairs just past their landing – and balked when Angela tried to move her forward. She sighed, but there was nothing for it. First, she snagged her communicator from the girls’ hand and tucked it safely away. Then, Angela lifted the girl once more, who wrapped her arms tightly around her neck, legs around her waist, and buried her face into the blondes’ shoulder so she couldn’t see. That was fine; hopefully, she wouldn’t shriek into her ear – that was the side with the comm unit, so it would be almost worse for poor McCree. 

Down and down she went, tripping unsteadily over stairs that she had forgotten were unstable. With the child, she was landing more heavily than before and, at one point, she nearly fell as her leg broke through a step and sent her to her knees – well, knee. The other leg was dangling below. Lucia had screamed then, though Angela was quick to try and reassure her. With a grunt she regained her feet – and frowned at the blood on the boards. The suit had numbed the injury so quickly she hadn’t even felt it. 

“Everthin’ alright?” McCree demanded as she carefully tested her weight on that leg and determined it was usable if a bit unsteady. She wasn’t gushing blood, so her femoral artery had somehow been missed; that was good, because trying to patch herself up on this staircase would be a terrible idea. Fortunately for her, the wound was her left leg so she could lean against the staff as necessary. Once she was out of this building she could tend to it – unless it began to hinder their descent. 

“Just a little fall; we are both fine.” Angela reported, omitting the injury. There wasn’t anything he could do about it from where he was, after all. Instead, she began moving down, favoring her left leg as she leaned on the staff. It wasn’t much farther to the ground, and then they could get out. 

“We are on the ground floor.” She reported as she set Lucia down. “How is the path out of the exit?” Maybe the first floor window may have been the easier exit, but she wasn’t about to climb back up the stairs to attempt it. 

“It’s a li’l steep. Need a hand?” Angela glanced down at the girl and then at her leg; she didn’t really want to navigate all of that if she didn’t have to. 

“Can you just wait up at the top for me? Where I will be able to see you?” Better to fly than abuse her leg further.

“Sure thing, doc. Whatever ya need.” Taking Lucia’s hand, the doctor led her to the exit. There were still piles of debris to wind through – or over – but at least this time the floor was stable. Then they were out into the open air, the sky just barely changing into the oranges of a sunset. She had spent an entire day inside that horrible building, but at least she didn’t have to go back. Angela looked at the slope of concrete and rubble. The path wasn’t terribly far, though the rubble would have been precarious and she had had enough of that today. Her eyes moved up further and landed on McCree. Even in the shadow of the building she knew it was him because of that hat of his. 

“ _Ancora una volta, va bene_ 7?” After the girl nodded her acceptance, Angela scooped her up for the final time. Then she glanced up once more and jumped up towards McCree. Up they went, Angela tucking her legs up slightly so she wouldn’t hit rubble as the suit dragged her in a straight line, until she was just before him. Unfortunately, she didn’t plan her landing properly. Instead of landing at the top, she was just on the slope heading back down – and due to her landing, gravity, and her injured leg she was tipping back towards the building.

“Whoa there!” McCree reached out towards her, and she flung her hand with the staff towards him as she reengaged the suit to regain some balance. He easily pulled her back up the few steps of the slope, holding her arm just long enough to make sure she was balanced. 

“Ya got her?” The cowboy asked, offering wordlessly to carry the child. Angela glanced down the small hill. As expected, his watch dogs were there – though what, exactly, they could have done to stop him from shoving her down the slope from over there was beyond her.

“I have her.” Angela turned her attention, briefly, to the cowboy. “Meet you at the bottom.” Then she was darting off, down the hill towards the surly agents. They were startled by manner of arrival – either rumors of her suit hadn’t gone around the base or they hadn’t believed it. “You did not think the wings were for show, did you?” Angela set Lucia down. “Will one of you please take her to wherever the other children are?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The one on the left agree. A quick explanation to Lucia, and then the two were off towards what looked like the rest of the survivors she had led out of the rubble. They looked no worse for wear than when she left them, which was a relief. Angela glanced down at her leg to find her boot streaked with blood, before looking around for something to sit on. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she could feel the lightheadedness from blood loss.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” The agent asked, concern in his voice. Her gaze had drawn his attention – the wings had been rather distracting, it seemed. Angela found a nearby pile of concrete that was stable enough for her needs and lowered herself down; the agent had followed behind her – and McCree behind him.

“I will be just fine in a few minutes.” Angela assured them both. When she looked past the first agent to McCree, he swung back around. It seemed he had remembered his orders to keep an eye on the cowboy now that the excitement was over. “Agent,” Angela called, drawing his attention back to her. He wasn’t so rude as to look over his shoulder, so he turned in a way that allowed him to keep McCree in his sights.

“I need you and your partner to go back inside and get the remaining survivors, if possible.” She wasn’t sure that it was, considering her precarious descent. “The stairs are really quite dangerous, so you may not be able to. However, there is a man trapped in rubble on the fifth floor and a woman who I could not move on the fourth.” She gave him the details of where, exactly, they were located. 

“If it seems too dangerous, do not proceed.” The order hurt her heart, but she could not afford to lose the ones that were already safe. They would need all the help they could get to save as many as possible, and while it would be a tragedy to lose those two people, it would be worse to lose a rescue team as well.

“I have orders to keep an eye on him.” The agent explained once she had finished, glancing towards McCree. She would have rolled her eyes, except that wouldn’t be professional; to McCree’s credit, he didn’t even make a sound of annoyance. Instead, she propped her left ankle up on her right knee to better look at her thigh. It was a jagged cut that was bleeding sluggishly.

“Your primary assignment is to rescue survivors, is it not?” Angela did not glance up towards him for confirmation. She was too busy pulling out what wood splinters had remained inside the wound with her forceps. “As that is your primary objective, you will do as I say. Agent McCree is not a threat to me. I would not have chosen him as a partner if it were otherwise.” The words were firm, as if she had a right to order him around – which, in fact, she did. 

This was a humanitarian response, which made _her_ highest authority here, whether the Commanders liked it or not. ‘In all things medical, she was the final word’ was what they said – and, well, she was fairly certain pulling people from rubble and operating on them in collapsing buildings counted; it certainly wasn’t a battlefield, for all that she was dressed for it. Angela wasn’t sure if she would push it to overriding a direct order from her superiors, but she could absolutely override the Lieutenants’.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have my orders.” This was a replay of her labs, she thought dimly. At least here she had firm authority – it was written in her contract, somewhere in her rooms miles and miles away. And she wasn’t being held at gun point; but then again, she did have a pretty nasty wound on her leg, so maybe it washed out. 

“Who was it that gave you these orders?” Angela was almost certain that the orders came from Reinhardt, but it wouldn’t hurt anything to verify it. After all, she hadn’t been around the men at all; perhaps Jack had called to give them an order not even she could – should – supersede. 

“Lieutenant Wilhelm gave me these orders directly.” He was a little smug, as if he had her in some sort of a corner. If _McCree_ had known she was in trouble for overstepping last night, this man certainly did, too. That was fine, let him be smug.

“Unfortunately, I outrank the Lieutenant.” Angela set her forceps aside – all the wood was out – and pressed one hand firmly to her leg to try and staunch the bleeding. She had bled this long – what was a few more moments to look up at this agent? Angela caught the surprised agent with a steely gaze and a sharp smile. “We are not on a battlefield. We are on a _humanitarian_ mission. That makes _me_ the authority here.” Angela tipped her head to one side, as if considering.

“I can certainly call one of the Commanders or the Captain to confirm, if you would like.” That was slightly more dangerous. While she would win whatever battle that could potentially spark, she wasn’t sure if it in the long-term it would be beneficial for Overwatch. “Though I am certain they are quite busy with other, more important tasks than this.” Which was certainly true – she didn’t believe any of them had gotten much more sleep than she had, working on this crisis as well as their normal duties. The agent hesitated.

“I… That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” She knew that the moment he pulled out of earshot – and possibly eyesight, but he might not be that respectful – he would be calling Reinhardt to determine the veracity of her command. 

“I appreciate that, agent. Please, do as I have asked.” Angela turned her attention to McCree once the agent was out of earshot. “I need to make a call. Could you please step away for a few moments?” He raised an eyebrow but left all the same. The doctor wiped her bloody hand on her catsuit before fishing out her communicator. The other hand was left to press against the sluggishly bleeding wound. 

Angela dialed out to Gabriel, before enabling the speaker so she could briefly set it down. Then, she muted her microphone so that McCree would not be privy to her conversation and tugged down her backpack. She had realized, belatedly, that it was impossible to both point the staff at herself and depress the trigger; therefore, she needed some gauze to staunch the bleeding until she could call McCree back.

“Reyes.” The voice crackled to life as she was slinging the backpack down. Of the three, he was the path of least resistance. Jack had a deep seated resentment towards McCree due to his actions in America, and Angela wasn’t sure how long it would take for that wound to heal. Ana took Jack’s side – which was fair, she _was_ his right hand – so asking her would almost be like asking Jack himself. Gabriel trusted the cowboy. Besides, it didn’t hurt that his judgement could be clouded towards her at times.

“It’s me.” She hoped there was no sign of her stress or injury in her voice – but knowing those three, they probably had a camera on her somewhere to make sure she didn’t do anything _too_ reckless. Angela carefully extracted some gauze, eying everything carefully to make sure she hadn’t contaminated anything more than it already was. She had run out of gloves halfway up the building and had to make do.

“Is everything alright?” Well, she would say she was fairly alright – even with the gash in her leg – but Angela was _well_ aware that he would disagree. Wisely, she chose to ignore the wound conversation altogether for now and focus on her reason for calling. Angela pressed the gauze to her leg, more effectively slowing the bleeding, before lifting the communicator back up and pulling it off speaker.

“I want to clarify something.” Angela explained, omitting the part where she had _already_ done the thing she needed clarification on. Either she had bet right and there would be no issues – or she had bet wrong and they would send her home. “Who has the highest authority here: Reinhardt or me?” 

“Do I even _want_ to know why this has come up?” Gabriel asked dryly. Angela laughed, a soft sound that had no place in this destruction. Probably, but she was trying not to lean harder on the favoritism card than she already was. She chose to ignore the question and provide more information that she felt was pertinent.

“Please recall that this is a humanitarian response, and that I was given authority over everything medically related when I agreed to join.” If pressed, she would give him more context – how she had ordered agents away and overruled the Lieutenant – but she didn’t think it really mattered _why_ she was calling. If it was in her power, it did not matter what she was using it for.

“Angela.” He sighed, but she kept her mouth shut. It was in his court. “You couldn’t call Ana or Jack about this?” They both were aware of the dangerous line they were toeing with Jack in this call, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I would, but…” Angela worried her lip for a moment. “It involves McCree. You know how Jack is about him. If I knew how Ana felt, I would have called her.” And she would have, if only to avoid the stain of favoritism that Jack would point out when she returned. Just because Jack couldn’t be trusted to be impartial about McCree – which was a fair assertion, she could admit, even if it _had_ been months since the event – didn’t mean the cool-headed sniper couldn’t.

“Ana is more levelheaded than Jack, you know that.” That didn’t mean she wouldn’t agree with Jack anyway. She was his right hand, after all. While Angela was aware that Angela and Jack didn’t always agree, she knew that it was very rare to see them split publicly. Her communicator buzzed, and she pulled it away slightly to see who it was. Reinhardt. That agent moved quickly.

“I can call her if you think it is best.” If Reinhardt didn’t beat her to it, that is. Then it would be out of her hands – and possibly his if Ana decided to rule against Angela. She wanted to rush the man, but she held her peace.

“Do that. While _I_ agree with you, you know how that might look.” Angela sighed. That was true enough. Although they had kept it from the rest of the base – not out of shame, but because their relationship could cause _exactly_ these kinds of problems with the majority – Jack and Ana would know, and possibly doubt.

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later.” She hurriedly hung up and dialed out to Ana, hoping that Reinhardt hadn’t skipped calling her a second time to calling the Captain directly. Or one of the Commanders. After a period of waiting that set her teeth on edge, Ana answered.

“Captain Amari.” She was fairly certain that – had McCree not been involved – she could have called the sniper directly, or even Jack himself. After all, they had let her leave the base today even though she had been given strict instructions about how she could leave the base – and even more restrictions after the lab incident. 

“It’s Angela.” McCree was glancing back at her, but she shook her head. She wasn’t quite ready for him. 

“Are you alright, dear?” The amount of concern in her voice had Angela certain of two things: Ana was in the control room and that, somewhere, there was a camera fixed on her to broadcast her bloody leg for them to see. Apparently, Gabriel wasn’t in the room, or he would have grilled her about it.

“I will be fine. As soon as we’re done speaking, I will patch myself up.” There was no point ignoring the wound that Angela _knew_ Ana knew about. Hopefully, they could disconnect before Gabriel returned to the room and saw her bloody. “I need to know: do I outrank Lieutenant Wilhelm, or does he outrank me? On this specific humanitarian response, not overall.” She knew that _all_ agents outranked her, generally, on a battlefield and that she _generally_ outranked most in the base. This was a grey area that needed to be clarified.

“Why would you need to override any of the Lieutenants’ orders?” Ana asked, as Angela had expected she would. So, Angela explained the facts: She had chosen McCree for a partner, Reinhardt had sent watchdogs for the cowboy, and Angela had sent those watchdogs into the building to fish out the final two survivors. Just as she was finishing, Reinhardt called her again – so she warned Ana that the man would be calling her next.

“I do not know if that was a wise decision, Angela.” The sniper said after a moment of consideration. It appeared she was making all sorts of wise decisions; she could add it to her list after ‘stepping between guns and gorilla’ and ‘climbing a collapsing seven-story building’.

“This is a humanitarian mission – not a strike or a rescue mission. It is medical in nature, considering we are not here to rebuild but to save the survivors.” It was all she could do to keep her tone patient and professional, instead of giving in to the mounting frustration. “As Overwatch’s Chief of Medicine, anything medical makes _me_ the authority.” She tactfully left out that she could – potentially – even override Jack; that was best left for another day. 

“And ordering away the two men meant to keep you safe was the right decision?” Ana asked instead. Angela pressed harder on the gauze that was turning too red for her liking. This needed to finish.

“If I sent McCree, one of them would have gone too – to ‘watch’ him. Then there would be an ‘accident’ that, _hopefully_ McCree would survive from but most likely would leave him dead. Best to leave him outside with me, where he has caused no trouble, than into that building.” Tensions were too high. This was the first chance any agent had to cause _real_ harm to the cowboy. At least they didn’t have guns. Ana hummed as she considered.

“While I do not quite agree with your decision,” there was Jack, but in a nicer form, “I do agree that you would outrank the Lieutenant in this specific instance. I suppose you want me to inform him?” Angela agreed – coming from Ana would affirm the fact far better than Angela could. Ana sighed. “I do hope you know what you’re doing, my dear. Your loss would trouble us all.” Angela smiled; hopefully, the camera could catch that too.

“I hope so, too.” The doctor agreed, before they disconnected. McCree ambled her way as she tucked the communicator away. That certainly made it easier than having to call him over, she supposed.

“Didn’ have to go t’all the trouble, doc.” He said by way of greeting. Angela shook her head. It wasn’t for him, not really. It was a power play for _her_. She wouldn’t have made it at all had the agent not made a big deal out of it. Instead, she had to pull rank – and she _hated_ pulling rank, proving that she was playing in the same hierarchy as the other militaristic members – to get him to do as she asked.

“It was not for you.” Angela corrected. It had been, mostly, for her. The agent had disobeyed her, thinking that he was able to do such a thing. That she had gotten in trouble for the very act just a few days ago had solidified that incorrect belief. Before it spread too far out of control, it needed to be handled – so she did. That it kept McCree from suffering an ‘accident’ inside the apartment was just a secondary bonus. “He was mistaken. I corrected his mistake, and now we move on.” 

“Whatever ya say.” He agreed, clearly disbelieving her. That was alright. Let him believe whatever he liked, as long as he listened and didn’t hurt anyone – or get hurt by anyone. Angela offered him her staff.

“I need you to help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Ci sei quasi – You’re nearly there.  
> 2: Altri dieci minuti in questo modo – About fifteen more minutes that way.  
> 3: Ciao – Hello.  
> 4: Rimani lì, – Stay right there,  
> 5: Torno Subito – I will be right back.  
> 6: Facciamo uscire di qui. – Let’s get you out of here.  
> 7: Ancora una volta, va bene? – One more time, alright?


	17. Relief

Time had no meaning in this place of blood and pain. Seconds had bled into minutes and hours, just like the injured bled into the gauze that was steadily running out. Angela had worked on too many patients, far more than even she would ever be able to remember, as the night settled around them. Her hands were never empty for more than the scant moments it took to move from person to person. Exhaustion dragged at her – at everyone in this waking nightmare – but she forced the feeling away; she could be tired later, once there was _time_.

She had just knelt on the ground beside her next patient – most had been settled as comfortably as possible on whatever cleared ground there was – when her communicator lit up. There were several people who would call Angela, even at – she glanced at the watch on her wrist – slightly past nine in the evening while she was in the middle of triage. Perhaps it was Gloria, providing a status update, or one of her friends, to chide her for still working on so little sleep. Maybe it was one of the few staff members that were still awake after seventeen hours, looking for her advice.

Because there was no telling who was calling or why, because it was the responsibility she had accepted, she was forced to pause and fish the object out.

“Dr. Ziegler.” Her normally cool opener was tainted by distraction; nearly all her attention was on the bleeding man before her. Angela wedged the communicator between her head and shoulder, freeing her hands to open a suture kit. It was unfortunate that both her staff and the healing stream were recharging, but even they had their limits. Instead, she would be forced to pull his leg back together by hand.

“Hello!” The booming German voice, concentrated through the communicator and straight into her ear, made her jump and nearly dislodged the device. Angela was grateful she had not yet started stitching. She took a breath and continued prepping her tools.

“Lieutenant–”

“Reinhardt, doctor, Reinhardt!” He insisted once more. How he remained so exuberant even after so many hours was beyond her.

“Reinhardt.” His name was more clipped than she had intended, but she had no patience for a social call. There were dying people all around her. “How can I help you?” Everything was ready; Angela glanced at the man, who was currently unconscious, and then the aide – Rodrigo – who would help restrain him should he wake while she worked.

Rodrigo – just like many of the volunteers in the camp – had no medical experience before this night, but he had a strong stomach and a willingness to help. He had followed her through the rows since his last doctor had gone to rest, ensuring she had whatever supplies she needed and helping to support or restrain patients as necessary. Each of the medical personnel had such help, along with the volunteers that ran through the rows with water or knelt to comfort the injured. Those that couldn’t bear working with the injured were helping to erect the tents that would provide shelter and more sterile work environments.

“It has been many hours, doctor.” Angela had expected this, but she had _not_ expected the undercurrent of uncertainty in the Lieutenant’s voice. Then again, she had very forcibly established herself as his superior on the ground out here; perhaps he was unsure of how to voice the recommendation for her to rest. She ignored his discomfort – it would only be awkward if they made it so.

“It has.” She had anchored the thread and was gently pulling the flesh into place. After each deft tug, she swept her eyes over the man for any sign that he was going to wake or struggle. “I know Commander Reyes told you to watch out for me.” There was no time for beating around the bush, so she cut straight to the heart of it. “Things are slowing here. I should be able to rest soon.”

That was an unfortunate truth. As night had fallen, fewer injured stumbled into their midst. No one wanted to dig or climb in unstable ruins when they could hardly see, after all. However, there were still countless injured to deal with – some, with less urgent wounds, had waited hours for tending. There would be plenty to treat through the night, even if no one else was found until dawn.

“Good, good!” The uncertainty was gone, replaced by his enthusiasm. “You will need to be well rested for tomorrow.” It was obvious that Gabriel hadn’t explained _exactly_ how stubborn she was to the man – but then again, there hadn’t been much time for anything of the sort, had there? Her use of ‘should’ allowed her to work however long she needed without lying; ‘soon’ was, for her, somewhere in the nebulous future that could be hours away. None of their superiors would have missed it, but he accepted her assurance at face value.

“I appreciate your concern.” Her stitching was nearly finished; fortunately, the man had remained unconscious during the procedure. That wasn’t a common occurrence, and she was grateful for it. “You need to get some rest, too.” Angela knew she was being hypocritical, but she also didn’t care. Her job was to make sure those around her were well cared for; only once that was complete could she turn her attention to herself. She was a doctor – she knew the importance of food and sleep – and she _would_ get both things before too long. Angela could feel the need hovering over her, waiting to pounce; it _would_ have to come within the next few hours unless she wanted to collapse where she stood.

“I will.” The man promised. She let the communicator drop to the ground as they disconnected; she would collect it before she left. Angela tied off the end of the stitches and turned to find gauze.

It wasn’t any sort of pride that kept her in the rows. Angela was not operating under any belief that if _she_ weren’t there, everything would crash and burn. It wasn’t her tunnel vision that trapped her here, either. Unlike her long evenings in the basement, she was extremely aware of how late it was getting and how long she had been awake.

The grim reality was that the second wave of relief had yet to arrive – which meant there was no one to take her place should she leave. She knew that it hadn’t even been a full day yet, but they desperately needed the personnel and supplies that the wave would bring. The first wave – the emergency wave, where things were forgotten in the haste to act and people were haphazardly thrown at the problem – was crashing after being pushed for so long.

Many of the medical personnel had gone to seek rest, leaving them shorthanded as the sun went down. There were plenty of volunteers to do the menial tasks – carting water around, passing messages, and the like – but the hands necessary to fix people were slowly weaning away. They were still human, after all. Now it was a choice between working with sleep deprivation or losing a set of hands that may be sorely needed during these critical hours.

What little help that had trickled in throughout the day after the first, major response, was not enough to sustain them. They needed the second wave, the next major influx of supplies and personnel. Between the two waves and the hospitals already present, they would be able to at least form a rotation to ensure they weren’t short staffed as they were now.

Angela scooped up her communicator and rose, sweeping her eyes across the wounded and dying. Among the chaos, she could only spot a handful of people who _might_ be able to put the injured back together before it was too late. They were all that stood between life and death – and they were faltering.

This first, critical night would be the hardest. Angela was desperately aware of that fact – which was why she was still awake, even though she _knew_ she should be resting for the day ahead. But it would only be this one night. Her hands were steady and her eyes were, somehow, still clear. She would hold out until she could go no longer, just as all those around her would. They had to because there was no one else.

\---

Less than an hour ago, the hospitals had stopped accepting critical patients. They were shuffling staff and patients, trying to free space and supplies for those who needed it most – but until then, they would remain in the rows. Angela and the rest of the drained medical personnel across the camps were all those injured had. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the tools necessary to save them; all they could do was try to prolong their lives until the hospitals could take them in once more.

The caffeine from the cold coffee she had hastily tossed back a half-hour ago had barely affected her weariness. Mostly it was the adrenaline, sparked from the terror the hospital closures, and her stubborn will that was keeping her on her feet now. It wasn’t her longest day of work by far – she’d pulled double shifts often enough before Overwatch had come into her life – but she had underestimated how physically taxing climbing through the building would be.

Angela was in the middle of treating a woman with electrical burns, blood and unguents on her hands, when her communicator lit up again. The last time it had rung she was in a similar situation and had missed the call while trying to clean her hands and fish it out. This time she had set it at her knee; a quick gesture had Rodrigo accepting the call and helping her wedge it against her ear.

“Dr. Ziegler.” Her voice was rough from exhaustion and sharp with annoyance. She no longer was willing to waste her energy to pretend that she was unaffected by this grueling day. While she cared very much about how others perceived her, she doubted _anyone_ would expect her to be cool and collected after such a day.

“Why aren’t you resting?” Jack’s tone was a mixture of accusation and worry. If she had the energy to spare, she would have sighed or rolled her eyes. He knew _exactly_ why she wasn’t sleeping. Instead, she continued to critically inspect the woman’s leg for any debris or dead skin that needed to be removed.

“I am working.” Angela accepted her forceps from Rodrigo, her attention shifting briefly to her left to rest on the woman’s face. “ _Mi dispiace, ma potrebbe far male_ 1.” The woman grimaced but nodded in acknowledgment as Angela turned back to the burns.

“You _should_ be sleeping.” He chided as she gently pulled gravel out of the injuries. The woman whimpered, clutching Rodrigo’s hand desperately out of pain and fear, but managed to keep from writhing too much. Angela had already finished treating the left leg, so the injured woman was familiar with the process.

“I will.” Angela agreed, cleaning the forceps off before pulling the final bits of debris from the leg. “Later. There is too much to do here.” She ignored the frustrated noise he made as she smeared ointment on the injury.

“Angela. Eat and go to bed. Now.” That was the Commander giving an order to his subordinate, not her friend giving a kind recommendation. It was an authoritative voice that required immediate submission, no questions asked. He hadn’t used that tone on her in a long time; the surprise had her hands pausing for the briefest of moments before continuing her task.

She didn’t bother to dignify the order with a response, as if a lack of acknowledgment would force him to take it back. The silence dragged out long enough for her to clean her hands and begin winding gauze around the injured leg.

“Angela, I’m serious.” Jack finally growled, after it became obvious that she was more than happy to remain silent. Angela finished wrapping the woman’s leg. With a reassuring smile to the poor woman, she rose with Rodrigo at her elbow. Normally, she would search for her next patient – but she didn’t want to divide her attention from her patient because she was dealing with a grumpy Commander.

“So am I.” She hissed in return, carefully stalking towards the end of the row. Her eyes swept over each person, trying to determine which of them she would work on once this call was completed. “I do not have the time to argue with you.” Every moment she wasted here was a moment that could have been spent saving a life.

“Then do as I say.” He snapped back. Angela knew how much she frustrated him; even after more than a year, she still refused to follow orders simply because they came from someone above her. Many of their arguments, hidden away in the command center where no one could see how hot her fury could burn, had stemmed from her questioning an order or demand. Combat was one thing – she would blindly follow orders until she was dead or back home – but everything else?

“I can’t.” The words were pure steel as she finally acknowledged his order and summarily dismissed it. Angela wasn’t sure she would have done it had they been face to face, even though she _knew_ in this she outranked him. However, nearly a thousand miles and exhaustion made it easy to ignore such reservations.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?” She winced as he practically shouted at her, knowing she had said the exact wrong thing. Now they were fighting when they didn’t have time for such a luxury. Angela heard the murmur of a voice – she couldn’t tell if it were Ana or Gabriel – in the background, but she could imagine Jack waving them off as he dealt with this ‘problem’.

“When will our second response arrive?” She ignored his question altogether; perhaps a shift in subject would throw him off enough to drop the argument.

“What does that have to do with you going to bed?” No, it did not distract him in the slightest.

“Right now, there is no one to relieve me.” Angela tried to keep her voice patient, but even she could hear her irritation. This conversation – which had gone on for too long – should not even be happening. “When the next response arrives, there will be more medical staff. One of them can take my place so I can get some sleep.”

There was a brief, considering pause before Jack relayed her question to the other person in the room – which led her to believe it was Ana – and then a strained silence fell between them. Angela was too tired to pursue the frayed strands of the argument. She wasn’t surprised that they felt the need to nag her, but that didn’t mean she would forgive the misstep. It was one thing to drag her to bed back home when there was no real emergency and another to take up the precious, finite moments that could mean the difference between life and death.

“Our people should be landing in the next hour.” It was a force of will that kept her from sagging with relief. If she let herself relax, she would never be able to continue. “From what we’ve been told from other nations and organizations, there should be a major influx over the next three hours.” It seemed like a lifetime, but it was better than nothing.

“Good.” Angela turned her attention back to the rows of people. “If that is everything?” Her tone suggested that it _should_ be everything, because as far as she was concerned, this conversation was over.

“Angela–” There was a note of apology in his voice, but that could be saved for when she returned home.

“We can talk about it later.” They would, in fact. Just as she respected their orders in combat, they needed to respect her medical decisions, _especially_ in the field. This was her field of expertise and the exact reason they had brought her on in the first place. Just as he was both Jack and Commander Morrison, she was Angela and Dr. Ziegler – and she _would_ remind them of that fact. “I need to go.” Angela disconnected before he could try to argue or push the subject. Already she was moving towards her next patient, swiftly drinking the lukewarm coffee that Rodrigo had procured during her call.

Wisely, her communicator remained silent.

\---

Angela wiped her brow before fixing her ponytail – at some point, hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheeks. They had already cleared one building and, because they had ended early enough in the day, they were now steadily working through a second. The four of them were resting in the fourth floor hallway of a nine story apartment building. Angela had been opposed – of course – but their good sense had won out.

She finished the last of her meal bar – an unpleasant tasting thing that had enough calories to get them through the day – and drained her water bottle. Wordlessly, McCree offered her a new one; all of her spares were still in his pack, incapable of fitting amongst her tools. Angela traded the bottles with a small, grateful smile before rising.

“We should get back to it.” It wasn’t the long rest she knew they all wanted, but they had to finish the building before the sun went down. The building would only get more dangerous the further up they went; they needed all the light they could get. With soft groans of complaint, the three men dutifully rose from their seats amongst the rubble.

Angela was grateful for their presence in the building with her. With multiple people, they could clear each floor faster – and when they came across someone trapped, the four of them had a better chance of freeing them than she had on her own. She was careful to keep an eye on the three men with her, still worried that they might try to stage an accident here in the rubble. There had been no trouble that she had seen – in fact, she hadn’t heard or seen anything that seemed to have malicious intent.

She wasn’t sure if there was less hostility between the three or if they had just decided that a collapsing building wasn’t exactly the best place for their problems. Considering the cowboy hadn’t tried to slit their throats in the night nor had he shoved her down a hole in the floors below, she hoped he made some headway towards the hostility.

Maybe she was just being overly hopeful, as she was wont to do.

Up they went, room by room. Sometimes they had to go in through walls – on a few occasions they had to back track so she could be boosted up into a room, and once she’d had to drop down from the floor above – but each room was meticulously searched. As they went, the footing became more and more unstable. McCree had actually yanked back one of the agents – Paulo da Silva, if she was remembering correctly – before the floor had gone out from under him on the seventh floor. Once that floor was cleared, Angela stopped them.

“You will go down to the second floor, where it is safer.” The building was unsafe, and she worried that it might come down around their ears. While she might – _might_ – survive such a fall with her Valkyrie suit, they certainly would not. “I will bring any survivors down to you for evacuation.” There were only two floors left; it wouldn’t take her that long to clear them by herself, even if the floor was unsteady.

She didn’t like sending McCree down with them alone, but there was nothing for it. She couldn’t risk bringing him higher in the building, so down he had to go. Hopefully, the two agents wouldn’t capitalize on her absence – and if they did, she had to hope McCree would be able to survive it or at least get out a call for help.

“You shouldn’t go up by yourself.” The second agent – Bryant Waters – insisted. The other two men nodded their agreement as Angela placed herself bodily between the agents and the stairs leading to the next floor, wings flaring slightly to block the way.

“And you should not go up at all.” Angela retorted. She didn’t want anything to happen to these men, especially under her care. “It is either the second floor or out of the building altogether.” She would rather send them outside, but she knew they would never listen to that; and so, she had offered the second floor as a compromise. It helped that she was the authority here, which she had firmly established that the day before.

“C’mon,” McCree sighed, “daylight’s burnin’.” The cowboy turned towards the stairs that would take him down. His spurs clinked, an oddly bright sound in the destruction, as he descended. After a long moment, the two agents considering her and realizing there was no point in arguing – it would only waste time and breath – they also made their way downstairs. She waited, listening to their footsteps echo, before reaching up to turn on her mic as she turned to make her way to the eighth floor.

\---

There were only two survivors on the eighth floor; fortunately, she was able to get both out without the help of the agents below. They were safely on the ground and she was on the ninth floor, prowling through the second of six apartments. It, too, was empty; while she was glad there was no one trapped, it was mildly frustrating to have come all this way for nothing.

Angela was leaving the bedroom when the building groaned – much more ominous than all previous sounds thus far – and shook. Between the unsteady flooring and the sudden movement, she was forced to one knee to keep from falling, wings flaring to try and steady herself as she leaned against her staff.

“McCree?” The name was a near-panicked question and command for information as she forced herself back to her feet.

“I’m not–” He cut himself off as the building swayed and groaned again; better prepared for the movement, Angela managed to keep her feet by bracing with her staff. “Y’need t’get out, doc! Pronto!” Angela hoped the three were sprinting down the stairs to safety, that they would get out of the building before it came down on top of them. Quickly she considered her own options.

She could go down the stairwell, but she wasn’t sure her wings could stretch in the small space between each side of the stairwell. Even then, there was a building about to come down on her head that may reach her before she made it to the exit. She could try make it up the stairs and hope that there was a roof access – and that it wasn’t locked. That was assuming that the stairs would support her mad dash up; she had barely made it up this far, and that was by barely resting her weight on some steps and skipping others. More than once she had nearly taken a tumble, and that had been _before_ the building was actively collapsing.

She could try to brace herself for the fall. There was only the roof above her, but the debris would be minimal compared to what she would land upon – even with the suit to slow her fall. Finally, she could go through a window – assuming the glass was already broken, that is. At this height, it would be impossible for her to break the strengthened glass herself.

Angela darted down the hallway of the apartment and looked at the window to her left. The glass was cracked, not shattered – but hopefully that would be enough. She rushed across the room, raising her staff with both hands. Angela used her momentum to help propel the butt of her staff into the glass, desperately hoping it would break under her blow. The glass spiderwebbed beneath the staff, which she took to be a hopeful sign. She struck again but staggered as the building shook again, sending her hit sliding against the glass ineffectively.

A third blow, precisely on the spot she had hit the first time, pierced the glass fully. It took two more blows to shatter enough of the glass for her to get through. She would be cut, but that was nothing compared to the damage that she would take from a collapsing building. Angela hastily brushed the glass away with one arm, not even feeling it when the glass bit into her skin, before raising one boot to the sill as the building began to give way.

It was a clumsy fall, her wings catching on the edges of the windows as she forced herself through the hole.

For a brief moment, she tumbled through the air in a tailspin, terror flooding her veins. Frantically, she flared the wings and slowed her fall to something survivable. She tried not to look down, to see _exactly_ how high off the ground she was. It was one thing to know that the wings had been tested for heights such as this in a lab setting and quite another to trust they would keep her safe from a deadly fall in real life.

Dust flew up from the ground, blinding and choking her, as it all collapsed in a deafening cacophony of groans and crashes. Still, she held herself aloft, praying there was enough power in the suit – not that she’d used it much today – and that it wouldn’t suddenly give out after prolonged use. She had no idea how high in the air she was with the dust all around them, but she knew it was still a terrible, deadly height. Even so, Angela knew that of everyone around the building, she was the safest in this moment.

Her communicator started ringing, buzzing annoyingly at her hip. While she did have a hand free, there was no way she was going to try to fish it out while floating through the air. Whoever it was would have to wait.

“McCree? Are you alright?” Angela asked, trying to keep the tension and stress out of her voice, once the building had mostly settled and everything was relatively quiet. She was who knew how high off the ground, hoping that her three agents had escaped safely. It was impossible to keep from looking at the ground – or trying, anyway, considering the dust in the air – to try and gauge how far until she was on the ground again, which only increased her stress.

“ _Gottverdammt_ 2, McCree, answer me!” Angela demanded after a long moment of silence, trying to suppress the horror that was filling her. If he were dead, that was on _her_. She had dragged him out here into this ruin to protect him, and instead she had led him to his death. She had allowed him to stay inside the building instead of ordering him outside. Angela hoped he was simply injured, but she knew how dangerous that collapse had been.

There was still no answer as she drifted in the sky, trying to drop straight down to the clearing she knew existed instead of into more ruins.

Her boots touched the ground shortly after, wings aloft and glowing warmly, with nothing but silence on the cowboy’s end; that meant he was either incapacitated or dead. If he were dead, she would deal with it as she would deal with all the horrors of this day, and those yet to come: later. Angela had long since perfected the art of suppressing her emotions, pushing them to a future time when she could afford to feel. She wasn’t even sure _how_ she would feel; she hadn’t even fully processed that he was the reason her agents were hurt and killed in North America, and now she’d gotten _him_ killed. Maybe it was a poetic kind of justice, but it just made her feel guilty – and then she shoved that aside, too.

The dust had mostly settled, but there was a brown haze to everything. She looked around, searching for anyone that had escaped the collapse. She spotted some figures a short distance away and hurried towards them, ignoring the third incoming call on her communicator. Angela knew that was a dereliction of her duty, but she was dealing with an active crisis – in the _middle_ of an active crisis.

“ _Stanno tutti bene_?3” Angela demanded anxiously as she approached, the dust making it impossible to make out their features. All those people she saved from the building, they had to be okay. She forced herself to forget that there were apartments she hadn’t searched, to forget that McCree was injured or dead so that meant others were too. There was nothing she could do for the dead, so she shoved everything aside for the living in front of her.

Once she was closer she realized that they were from the building, the injured adults and despondent children; she looked them over, but she didn’t see any new wounds that needed attention. After her long, critical examinations – ignoring the looks of shock and awe they cast her way when they thought she wasn’t looking – she turned towards the rubble of the building. She saw people already working, digging, to try and save the ones that had been too close when it all came tumbling down. Angela hurried over to do what she could for the injured and lend her hands as necessary.

Angela found Paulo sprawled out in the rubble. She reached out to check for his pulse before pausing, frowning at the blood on her fingertips. A quick glance at both arms showed gashes where the glass had caught her in her frantic escape; there wasn’t much she could do for them, but she reached for gauze nonetheless. Practiced fingers wrapped the sterile cloth around her right bicep, before tying it off with the help of her teeth. She gave her left forearm the same treatments before wiping her hands off on her overcoat.

The worst of her arm wounds treated, the doctor reached out and checked his pulse before carefully turning him over. There was blood on his head and the rocks, and his forearm was sitting at the wrong angle. Gently, she lifted his head to inspect the wound, and then used her staff to heal him. Once his wound was healed, she carefully stretched his arm out and splinted it with the wood from the debris. Angela was grateful he was unconscious – the process was not a painless one.

Once he was stabilized, she carefully stretched him out and rose; he would be of no use in his current state, so it was best to leave him as he was – not that she could move him by herself. Then she was moving, searching through the haze for the next injured she could piece back together as she drew closer to the apartment that had fallen apart.

“You’re still alive, then.” The voice had her stopping, turning. Sitting on a chunk of loose concrete was Jesse McCree. For a moment, all she could do was stare, stark relief that she _hadn’t_ gotten him killed coursing through her. His hat was missing, his hands looked bloody, and there was a terrible gash on his head that was still oozing blood, but he was very much alive.

Then she was Dr. Ziegler again, striding forward to put him back together.

“Of course I’m still alive.” She grabbed his chin with gentle fingers to turn his head, ignoring his hiss of discomfort, eyeing the wound critically. “Why didn’t you answer me? I thought you were dead.” She managed to keep her tone conversational, giving away none of the mixture of emotions she had felt while floating in the sky or even moments ago when he had first spoken; she wasn’t sure if her relief had shown in that brief moment, but if it hadn’t she would keep it to herself. The emotions didn’t matter, because there was no place for emotions in this place of death and destruction.

“Didn’ mean t’worry ya, doc.” He reached out, as if to pat her shoulder reassuringly, but seemed to think better of it and dropped his hand back to his side. Her eyes went back to his head; his wound was bad enough to rate stitches – and he probably had a concussion on top of it. She hefted her staff, angling it so it was pointing at him. McCree cleared his throat. “Pushed one of th’ boys thatta way,” he waved vaguely in the direction she’d come from, “when everythin’ went sideways.” Then he was pointing at his ear, nearly knocking into her staff. “The damn thing flew out or somethin’, prob’ly when I got hit.”

Well, she couldn’t blame him for that, now could she? Angela turned the staff on so that it could knit the flesh back together. Minutes later his head was whole again. McCree reached up to touch the space carefully, then more firmly once he realized the wound really was gone.

“That’s a pretty nifty trick.” He rose, holding his hand out. Angela looked at his hand, then up to his face with one eyebrow cocked in silent question. “You’re pretty beat up yourself; gimmie that stick a’ yours.” Angela frowned and looked down at herself, then sighed. He was right; her body was peppered with gashes that were bleeding sluggishly and dripping onto the rubble around them. She handed the staff over impatiently. Angela knew that bleeding all over her patients wouldn’t help matters at all, but she loathed the pause regardless of its necessity.

While she waited, bathed in the gentle glow of her staff, her communicator rang again. With nothing else to do, she fished the annoying object out. Angela glanced at the screen and was unsurprised at the name of the caller.

“Dr. Ziegler.” Angela answered, allowing no sign of her stress to color her voice. If McCree hadn’t been at her side, she may have greeted him more familiarly – but there were appearances to keep.

“Are you alright?” Gabriel must be the one on duty in the command center, considering how quickly he had responded to the apartment collapse.

“Of course I am.” She had answered her communicator, hadn’t she? “I apologize for taking so long to answer; things were a little busy here.” Angela wasn’t sure if this was a normal reaction for her superiors, or if this was Gabriel allowing his emotions to get the better of him. Were any of them called when their positions were compromised or they took a hit in the field, or was this just for her?

“I have confirmed that agents McCree and da Silva are alive; agent da Silva has a broken arm, so he will be coming home shortly. I haven’t found agent Waters yet.” Angela reported dutifully after a stretch of silence. With the dust in the air, it was nearly impossible to make out the faces of the people scattered throughout the debris before her – but her eyes were still trying to find him, regardless.

“Commander?” Angela asked, barely tripping over the title as her eyes flashed towards McCree briefly. Barely a moment passed before her eyes were back on the hazy figures before her, searching for Waters. There was nothing but pure professionalism in her voice. “Is everything alright?” He hadn’t said anything since his first question, which led her to believe this was more about their relationship as Gabriel and Angela than about a Commander checking on the Medical Director.

“Yeah.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Yes. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes; it couldn’t have been Ana in the command center when the building came down? It might be an unfair wish, but it wasn’t like _she_ called to check on him when he was in the field. Angela didn’t monitor situations like her superiors did – she was far too busy in the labs for such things – which meant she didn’t have such opportunities, so maybe she was being unfair.

That didn’t make it any less annoying.

“Of course.” Angela acknowledged instead, ignoring the frustration that the call created. This was not the time or place for it, regardless of McCree’s presence. “Did you need anything else, Commander?” The warmth of the beam disappeared; Angela glanced down at herself to see whole flesh beneath the slashes in her catsuit. She turned to McCree to accept her staff back with a murmured thanks.

“No, Angela.” Gabriel sighed. “Have Waters check in once you’ve found him.” Angela could tell he was trying to save the conversation, to make it less about _them_ , but she wasn’t fooled. That didn’t mean she would pursue it right now; she had other, more important things to take care of.

“I will.” Of course the agent should check in – perhaps she would have remembered to have them call in after everything had calmed down, but perhaps not. While Gabriel had jumped the gun on the check in, she knew that the call would have needed to be made regardless.

“Take care of yourself.” Angela wondered if he would ever tire of those words, but she doubted it.

“I will do my best.” It was her tried and true response, the only promise she could offer in the precarious situations she found herself in. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, she knew, but they both knew it was all she would offer him. She heard him sigh as they disconnected, her communicator going back to its home at her waist. Angela glanced at the cowboy, who had yet to recover his hat from wherever it had gone.

“Take it easy, will you?” It wasn’t quite an order. “And let me know if you spot Waters.” Before he could answer her, she strode off into the destruction to search for the injured and her wayward agent. He was hers to protect, and she had given him orders – given _all_ of them orders – that had placed them in harm’s way. Until he was found, safe and sound, that small kernel of worry and fear would gnaw at her.

She now had a greater appreciation for the positions her friends held. They certainly had given orders that had gotten agents killed – they had seen too much combat for that to be otherwise. Angela was grateful that she didn’t have to shoulder that burden; she carried enough as it was. She just hoped that Bryant Waters wouldn’t become her latest addition to her nightmares. Angela knew she _could_ bear it – she bore the deaths of plenty others – but she did not want to.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to. McCree, now with his hat, deposited Waters at her side before ducking away into the dusty haze, giving her no time to thank him. If she had been in her office, or in any semblance of privacy, she would have sagged with relief. All three of her agents were accounted for; she hadn’t gotten any of them killed. While one had been injured badly enough to take him out of the field, they were still all alive.

Instead, Angela swept her eyes over the agent critically but found nothing wrong. After she was satisfied that he was as healthy as possible, she ordered him to go check on da Silva and check in with Gabriel. Then, she turned to look for the next injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Mi dispiace, ma potrebbe far male – Italian – I’m sorry, but this might hurt.  
> 2: Gottverdammt – German – God damn it.  
> 3: Stanno tutti bene – Italian – Is everyone alright? 
> 
> \---
> 
> I think I'm going to keep the once-a-month update schedule, so please keep an eye out for me around this time next month!


	18. Homecoming

“What do you think of McCree?” Angela asked casually. They were all making their way back to the triage camp; she and Waters were at the very back to make sure no one fell behind. McCree had ranged farther ahead as he helped some kids traverse the rubble. That he didn’t speak Italian, and they didn’t speak English, didn’t seem to be a problem.

“Ma’am?” Bryant Waters glanced towards her, confused at the sudden question. Angela waved her free hand airily in what was meant to be a placating gesture.

“It’s not a trick question.” She hoped, after the past two days, that Waters would be _less_ likely to stand by and watch an ‘accident’ befall the cowboy. “What do you think of him?”

“I, well…” His words drifted off as he considered her question. Despite her assurances, she knew that _he_ thought this was a trick of some sort. Angela couldn’t blame him for the hesitation - McCree _was_ a point of contention at all levels of Overwatch. Instead, she walked along next to him quietly and watched the column of survivors ahead of her.

“He’s not what I expected.” Waters admitted eventually. Angela nodded in agreement.

“I know what you mean.” She smiled wryly when he looked at her in confusion. “He was the enemy, so he’s supposed to be some sort of monster, right? But he’s not.” No, he was just another agent with blood on his hands - just like all the rest of them.

Her hands were of a similar red, considering her own failures for their agents - though hers would never be quite the same.

“He could have let Paulo fall earlier.” He mused quietly. Angela wasn’t sure if the words were meant to be said aloud.

“He could have.” She agreed anyway. “He also pushed da-- Paulo aside as the building fell.” McCree _was_ trying to get into the good graces of those around him. Angela wasn’t sure if it was out of necessity - she knew he’d be sent to prison, or _worse_ , if this didn’t work out - or if it was genuine, but at the end of the day she wasn’t sure if it mattered. As long as he did the right thing, did it matter what his motives were?

“McCree also found you for me, when I was worried you may have been trapped - or worse.” The man at her side nodded slowly.

“I guess… I don’t know, ma’am.” The agent sighed.

“He’s not horrible,” Angela guessed, “but you haven’t forgotten what happened in North America.” He made a noncommittal noise that Angela took to be an agreement. “Agent, the real question is this: can I trust you to work with him?”

Paulo da Silva’s broken arm meant he was going to be sent home for recovery; there wasn’t much good he’d do here as he was. Angela knew that her place needed to be in the triage camps now: after two days there were proper rescue teams being sent out, which made her Valkyrie suit redundant.

That left both Waters and McCree without partners. Angela worried that McCree would be killed out here by one of the agents - though that he hadn’t been murdered in his sleep was encouraging. Then again, it was harder to call his death an accident if he was in his bed.

“Trust _me_?” Waters echoed incredulously, eyes flashing towards her. He stopped, allowing the group to pull a little ahead of them. “ _I’m_ not the one who shot an Overwatch agent.” Angela sighed. He’d missed the point.

“I trust you with _my_ life.” Angela assured him, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers so he would listen. “I also trust McCree - because Commander Reyes trusts him.” Mixed feelings aside, she was sure that even without Gabriel’s assurance she would have come to the same conclusion, eventually. She had never felt unsafe in the cowboys' company - not even the day he’d disarmed her in the firing range. Still, the backing of a Commander was worth more than a doctor’s, no matter how powerful or prestigious - especially to a soldier like Waters.

“But you don’t trust him with _yours -_ and that’s okay.” She rushed out the last words as he opened his mouth to retort angrily. “Can I trust you with _his_?” Would he allow his begrudging feelings to get in the way of doing the right thing?

“That’s-” Waters sputtered, unsure if he should be offended at the question or not. Angela started walking again, motioning with one hand for him to join her.

“Yesterday, you were angry and wanted vengeance for those we lost on that mission.” She kept her voice quiet so that it wouldn’t carry past them. “I don’t know you, so I don’t know what you would or would not have done.” Angela let him think about that for a moment.

“I could have sent him into the building with you and da Silva yesterday. Instead, I kept him outside and around plenty of witnesses to keep him safe from an ‘accident’.” Angela glanced sidelong at him, purposefully leaving the question of ‘ _was I wrong?_ ’ unsaid.

“My job is to preserve life and protect the agents of Overwatch.” Her eyes found McCree again, who was glancing back at them with curiosity. There was a marked distance between the two of them and the group they were escorting, so she was unsurprised that he’d noticed it. He didn’t let their distance distract him; just as quickly, he was laughing with one of the children about something.

“There is a _lot_ I will do towards that goal.” Angela admitted firmly, eyes steely. “Why do you think I chose him as my partner?” The look on his face told her that he hadn’t even considered _why_ McCree was with her. He just knew that he had to watch McCree; it was a single-mindedness she was sure was preferable for their agents - it allowed them to follow orders without question - but it was certainly a detriment to this conversation.

“I trusted Commander Reyes enough to come out here alone with McCree.” Angela reminded him. “I trust them both enough to send McCree to watch your back - just like he did for Paulo today.” This time it was her turn to stop, one hand resting heavily on his arm as she stared up at him. “Can I trust _you_?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said firmly after a moment of consideration. “You can trust me.” Her eyes searched his, but he appeared to be truthful. Angela nodded. It would have to be enough.

“Good. You’ll work with him until either of you come home.” Angela started walking, pace quicker than before so they could rejoin the group.

\---

“Doctor Ziegler!” She was getting used to the booming voice of the Lieutenant. “What can I do for you?” Once they returned to the triage camp and settled everyone, she had called the Lieutenant.

“I wanted to inform you, Li-- Reinhardt, that I will no longer be going into the ruins.” Angela made her way through the camp, heading for what posed as the canteen. She needed to eat before joining the rest of the medical staff. Angela knew herself well - if she didn’t eat now, she wouldn’t eat at all, and she needed to be at her best right now.

“I also need to tell you that agent Paulo da Silva is being sent home; one building collapsed and his arm was broken.” She was just grateful that had been the worst of the injuries incurred; it could have gone so much worse. She had _thought_ it had gone much worse.

“I am sorry to hear that, doctor,” Reinhardt said, his booming voice more somber at the news, “though it is good that he will recover.” Angela nodded, as if he could see her.

“Yes, though it will take some time.” She accepted a tray from one cook with a smile of thanks before wandering towards an empty seat. “Since Agent Waters no longer has a partner, I would like for him to work with Agent McCree.” Reinhardt was quiet long enough for her to settle at the corner of one table with a few other Overwatch agents. They glanced at her in curiosity before going back to their own meals.

“If you think that is wise, doctor.” He said finally. It was obvious that McCree hadn’t endeared himself to the Lieutenant, at least, even though he had done nothing untoward during this mission.

“McCree saved da Silva’s life today.” Angela wasn’t sure if that was an exaggeration or not. If the man had fallen from the seventh floor, there was no telling how far he would have gone or what he would have hit. Then, McCree had shoved him out of the falling building. Either could have ended with da Silva being alive without McCree’s intervention, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

“Did he?” The German mused quietly. Angela let him consider the words while she took a bite of her food - some kind of pasta with a white sauce. It really didn’t matter what it was; she just needed the fuel to keep going. After she swallowed, she broke the silence again.

“I believe that Waters is the best fit for him, now that I am unavailable.” Angela kept her voice low and patient. “He has worked with McCree, so I don’t believe there will be many issues between the two of them.” She took a sip of water.

“You are probably right, doctor.” Reinhardt agreed. “This is a good plan. I will make sure they stay together.” Angela smiled briefly.

“I appreciate that, Reinhardt.” They disconnected, leaving Angela to quickly finish her meal so she could get back to work.

\---

Angela spent the next two days slaving in the rows of the injured, who had now been moved into tents to better protect them and to provide more comfort. She worked long hours, bandaging and suturing and anything else that was necessary. Angela tried to keep herself among the most critically injured, applying her staff sparingly, but effectively, to ensure the most would survive.

Rescue crews were finding less and less critical patients. Those that had been critically wounded in the initial quake were, usually, found as corpses at this point. But, for those that _were_ saved, Angela ensured that her staff and her hands were available to keep them alive - at least, for those who came to her camp.

There was a brief lull in her tent. She could find work elsewhere, but she knew that it was all well in hand. No one working here - at least, in _this_ camp - seemed to be incompetent. There was no reason to barge in when she wasn’t needed.

These lulls had become more and more frequent. At first, they were brief; she normally used them to make a quick call to check in with Zürich or the Lieutenant - and once, McCree, just to make sure Waters _hadn’t_ killed him. Now, they were longer and left her with very little to do. There were still plenty of injured, of course - broken arms, burns, and the like - but there weren’t many _critical_ injuries that needed to be cared for. She had only come for the initial surges, and she had served her purpose. It was time for her to go back home.

“Reinhardt, I’m planning to return to Zürich. Is there a carrier leaving later tonight?” Worst-case scenario, she would go home in the morning with the first carrier to leave. While she wanted to get back home quickly, now that there was no actual need for her presence, she would not force a trip that was unscheduled.

“Ah, I think it will leave in just a few hours, doctor.” Reinhardt told her after a moment of consideration. “It is the only one leaving today.” That made sense; there probably wasn’t a necessity for multiple trips in a day at this point, not with so many other organizations providing aid as well.

“I will make sure I am on it.” Angela was grateful that she had sent her Valkyrie suit back to Zürich base already; once she was stuck in the camp, there was no more need for it. She felt it was better to send home, rather than leave sitting around in the camp. That meant that all she needed to do was grab her pack, which held everything that wasn’t currently on her person.

\---

By the time her carrier touched down on the Zurich base roof, she was completely drained. It wasn’t unexpected: she had pushed her body hard these last few days, and now that she was done it was time to pay the price. If she had needed to stay much longer in those camps, Angela knew that her workload would have been forced to change - if only for her patients’ health, if not her own. 

Fortunately, that hadn’t been necessary.

Now, she could shuffle off the transport; it was empty of people aside from her and the pilot. Sometime tomorrow it would return to Potenza, carrying supplies or personnel as needed. Gloria would probably send someone out to take her place, now that she was home again. Perhaps Gloria would even go herself. That was a problem for tomorrow, though. For now, she needed to take care of herself before she crashed.

“Angela.” A hand at her elbow stilled her; her eyes followed the arm up to find Gabriel looking down at her with some concern. She blinked. Angela hadn’t even realized there was anyone else up on the roof with her. She had just been focused on getting to the elevator. She must be more tired than she realized.

“Hey,” Angela smiled up at him, trying not to betray how exhausted she was. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.” The carrier was still winding down, so the noise _could_ have kept her from hearing him if he had called out to her. She had expected no one to greet her - they had plenty of other duties to worry about than greeting her upon her return. It wasn’t the first time she’d flown back into the Zurich base, after all.

“It’s a little dark out here.” He agreed after a moment, though that wasn’t true; there was plenty of light to ensure safe landings. She suppressed a sigh, knowing he’d seen through the flimsy ruse - though he had been kind enough, at least, to not directly point it out. Instead, she let him steer her towards the elevators as the pilot and various other personnel worked on getting the carrier stowed away. “Where were you heading?” He asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“I was going to get something to eat before heading to my rooms.” Somewhere in there she would have reached out to him to let him know she’d arrived safely. Probably. Angela wasn’t so tired that she’d forgotten him - that was _impossible_ \- but she definitely didn’t plan out her return very well. Gabriel glanced down at his watch - a big, bulky thing that could probably hack a satellite for all she knew - before looking back at her.

“You? Eating at this hour? Are you alright?” His words were _mostly_ teasing as he pressed the appropriate button. Angela made a face as she leaned her back against one wall so she could look at him. She’d lean against him, as had become her norm, but she was loath to show _just_ how tired she was. It was bad enough that he was watching her with those careful eyes; he probably could see exactly how much weight she was pressing into the wall instead of resting on her feet.

“You’re hilarious.” She deadpanned. “It’s too late to work. Besides, I’ve been working hard these last few days. I thought I’d just turn in.” Once she had returned to Zurich, the terms of her punishment were back in place. Since the carrier had left so late in the evening, she knew that it would be impossible to get any work done tonight. The better course of action was to just rest so she could be at her best - or closer to her best, at any rate - tomorrow. 

Contrary to popular belief, Angela _could_ take care of herself.

“I never thought I’d see the day.” Angela rolled her eyes as she escaped the elevator. He followed on her heels. Once they reached the canteen, he pushed her towards a table. “Go sit. I’ll get you something.” Normally she would have joined him to get her own food, but she more than happy to drop into a chair to wait instead. 

She dropped her pack at her feet and leaned back so she wouldn’t slump on her elbows over the table. There were plenty of agents and other personnel in this canteen - it was closer to dinnertime than she had realized. Angela refused to let them see her weakness, to appear to be anything _less_ than the formidable Dr. Ziegler - even if it _was_ odd that she was eating at this hour. Still, for all her attempts at appearances, she still jumped slightly when Gabriel appeared and placed a plate of food before her.

“Easy,” he murmured, settling in across from her. “It’s just me.” She smiled faintly before eating, uncaring about what he’d picked; just like in the camps, it was just the fuel her body needed to keep going. “That bad?” He asked after a moment. She shook her head, swallowing.

“No, no,” Angela rushed to reassure him. “I’m just a little tired. Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t appear convinced, but before he could press the matter, Ana and Jack joined them.

“Welcome back, Angela.” Jack greeted, sliding into a seat next to Gabriel. Ana sat across from him at Angela’s side after warmly clasping her shoulder in greeting. They had plates of their own, though she hadn’t seen them come in - but then again, she wasn’t really paying attention to much at the moment. She smiled at them, hoping they couldn’t see how tired she was - even as she knew it was a lost cause.

“It’s good to be home.” She let their familiar chatter surround her as she kept eating. Angela was almost certain Gabriel ran interference for her so she wasn’t expected to actually contribute, because they all pretended not to notice her silence. It took her longer than she cared to admit to finish the food before her, but she tuned back in to the conversation briefly once the plate was empty. Angela wasn’t sure if the lull in the conversation was a natural one or one they created for her once they realized she was more attentive, but it didn’t matter to her.

“I know I normally stay longer, but I think I’m going to get some rest.” Angela said. They were kind enough to _not_ comment on her exhaustion or the early hour - unlike Gabriel in the elevator. She rose from the table as they said their goodnights and made her way towards the elevator bay and her rooms, doing her best to walk with the same briskness she normally had. It was only when she reached her door that she realized she had left her pack - and badge - in the canteen downstairs.

Angela sighed. She really didn’t want to make that trek a second time, but it looked like she didn’t have much of a choice. She turned, ready to go back down the hall, when Gabriel appeared from the elevator bay with her bag in hand.

“Forget something?” The teasing words were gentle as he stepped past her to open the door for her. “Come on, get in here before you pass out in the hallway.” Once she was in, he closed the door before crossing the room to set her pack down next to her couch for her to deal with later.

“Are you going straight to bed?” Angela wanted to take a shower and wash off the last few days before she climbed into her bed; if she was quick, it should be alright. She was tired, but she wasn’t _crashing_ \- not yet, anyway.

“I’ll probably shower first.” He nodded before settling on her couch. Angela stared at him, head tipped slightly to the side, as she tried to figure out why he was staying. She knew that it wasn’t late enough for his work to be done for the night, even if _she_ was.

“I’m just going to wait and make sure you don’t pass out in the shower.” He explained as he leaned back, arms draped over the back of the couch. “As soon as you’re in bed, I’ll go.” That was a good reason, she supposed.

“Okay.” Angela agreed, nodding as she turned towards her room. As the water heated, she pulled the first comfortable, clean clothes she put her hands on - a loose sleep shirt and a pair of scrub pants - before ducking under the spray. Slowly, lethargy made worse under the soothing warmth, she scrubbed at her hair and body.

The shower was longer than was her norm, but she emerged clean of the sweat and blood of the camp she had come from. Angela toweled herself off, nearly falling over in the process; she was grateful she hadn’t knocked anything over, or undoubtedly Gabriel would have come barreling in and she wasn’t up for any of _that_ right now.

Once dressed, she trudged back to her bedroom door to lean out. Gabriel looked up from his communicator, sitting exactly where she had left him. His eyes swept over her once, then he nodded and rose.

“Alright. Get some sleep.” He tucked the communicator away and moved towards the door.

“Gabriel,” Angela called after him, leaning heavily on the door frame. Gabriel paused, glancing back at her. “Take my key?” The ticking clock was back, looming over them; it was probably foolish, but she would prefer to spend what little time they could together - even if it was just sleep.

“Sure,” he agreed easily, which kept her from feeling like an idiot. Gabriel snagged it off the table where he left it before making a shooing motion at her. “Go to bed. I’ll be back later.” He waited until she stumbled off, leaving the door ajar as she climbed into bed. She barely heard the door close behind him as she curled among her blankets.

For once, she fell asleep almost immediately.

\---

“ _Angela_.” Her eyes opened, blinking in confusion. Where was she? Who was touching her? “Angela, wake up.” The room - _her_ room - came into focus. That was right; she had come home from the camps. Why was her lights on? She was pretty sure she had left them off when she’d climbed into bed. Gabriel was at her side - standing, not in the bed - looking down at her.

“Gabriel?” It took her a moment to remember that she had given him the key to her rooms. He’d been concerned about her exhaustion, so she knew why he had woken her. Apparently she’d been having a nightmare - but she couldn’t remember it, which she counted as a blessing.

“Are you still with me?” He asked after a moment, searching her face for any sign of her anxiety or terror. She sat up, because having this conversation laying down while he was standing was far too awkward. He pulled his dislodged hand back.

“I’m still here.” Angela confirmed, scooting so she could lean back against the headboard. “For now.” ‘For now’, because who knew what tomorrow would bring. She had learned that lesson the hard way: it started with Naples, continued in Venezuela, and ended in Potenza. So many times she - or others around her - had come close to dying.

It was a wonder she got _any_ sleep at all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered. Even if he hadn’t spoken the words, she would have known the offer was there - the offer was _always_ there. He was always willing to listen to her problems, even if he had no solutions for them. It was one thing she liked best about him. Angela shook her head, causing him to frown.

“I don’t remember it.” She explained. Angela could have made a few educated guesses about what it was about if he had pressed, though. She knew herself well enough to know what would haunt her - and there were so many things from the past days to choose from. 

“What about the mission?” He offered a second time, as if he could read her mind. Considering the various confessions she’d given him in the past year, it was unsurprising that he could make such an educated guess.

“Come to bed.” Angela deflected instead, buying herself time to decide whether she wanted to get into the mess that was Potenza tonight or not. He considered her answer before nodding.

“Alright.” He made his way around the bed, heading towards her bathroom after snagging up the clothing on the foot of her bed. She assumed he’d tossed them there when he entered the room as he rushed over to wake her up. It wasn’t long before he was flipping the lights off and climbing into the bed with her.

Angela sighed with contentment as they settled; though this was new, she would miss this once he left for Rome. 

All at once, she decided. Since he was leaving Overwatch, she wouldn’t have many opportunities like this in the future. Of course, they would still talk - just because he was leaving didn’t mean that their communicators were broken - but their time to see each other, to be like _this_ , would be limited. 

“I’m sorry.” Angela murmured, emboldened by the darkness, as he pulled her closer. His arm settled over her hip and his hand splayed over her stomach. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He replied. Angela shook her head in disagreement, though she could see where he’d be mistaken. He thought she was sorry for doing her duty. Angela couldn’t be sorry for going to Potenza, not after all the good she had done there.

“I left you.” When forced to choose between him or her duty, she had chosen her duty. It had been the right choice - just as his decision to leave her on the ground in Venezuela was the right choice - but it was a hard, bitter choice that cut both ways. 

How could she have left him after his heartfelt confession not hours before?

“You’re here now,” he soothed, tightening his hold on her briefly as if to emphasize that point. “I understand why you went. It was the right decision.” Angela knew, had there been a mission that had come up that required his attention, he would have left, too. That didn’t change her guilt - but she had always been harder on herself than on others. 

“I’m not upset; it’s alright.” Gabriel assured her once the silence grew long. He pressed his lips against the top of her head. “Tell me about Potenza.” She sighed, eyes closing briefly. The darkness made it a bit easier, at least.

“It was awful.” There was nothing good about the trip she had made - though that was only to be expected, considering the reasons behind the mission. “The things I saw…” Angela trailed off with a shiver. 

Haltingly, she described some of the horrors she had seen in the last few days. It was the children - living, more than the dead - that hurt her the most. She saw herself in them; suddenly their lives were in upheaval, everything they knew gone. Some had watched their parents die in the rows, while others had found the corpses before they could escape the rubble. Their wide, sad eyes haunted her. 

And then there was the building collapse.

“How do you do it?” Angela asked thickly. “How do you live with it when you give an order that ends badly?” Her order could have gotten the three men under her care killed; it was only luck that kept them alive. 

“The same way you do,” he murmured eventually. “It’s not unlike Naples, Angela - you make a choice, and then you have to suffer the consequences.” The consequences of Jack’s operation - of her blind decision - had been two lives. She’d buried herself in work for months to try to keep such an event from happening again.

“It’s not the same, though.” Angela whispered. Potenza was different from that. Life against life was one thing, but giving an order to hold a position was another. “I chose Jack over two agents in Naples, but in Potenza…” Angela worried at her lip, trying to find the words to explain. 

“I gave an order to those agents, and it nearly resulted in their deaths when the building collapsed.” That the worst injury was a broken arm was a miracle; they should have died.

“I don’t know, Angela.” He sighed. “You just have to. The only other option is to stop - and, for people like us, that _isn’t_ an option.” He was right, of course. Angela couldn’t stop, not when there was so much to do. 

“ _You_ handle it by working too hard and having nightmares.” Gabriel told her, squeezing her briefly again. “I take it out on punching bags and try to learn from my mistakes.” He hesitated, then added: “On the _terrible_ ones, I drink.” Angela wondered how many _terrible_ decisions he had made, but his tension warned her away from the subject.

Instead, she changed the subject to the rows and rows of injured and dying. It wasn’t a pleasant subject. In fact, it was terribly upsetting to remember in some cases -such as the little girl who had died while Angela was with her - but his body relaxed against her, now that the threat of her judgement or prying was gone. 

Eventually her words were filled with more yawns than words as her body reminded her of its needs. There was more to say - there was _always_ more to say - but she was still exhausted. That he had just been coming in when he’d woken her meant that she’d only slept for a handful of hours. He pressed his lips to her head again as she stumbled over another word.

“Go to sleep, Angela. You can tell me about it tomorrow.” Angela nodded, breaking off whatever her thought was - she’d already lost it, now that he’d interrupted her - to lean back against him. She let the sound of his breathing and heartbeat soothe her. It wasn’t long before she was asleep once more.

\---

“I am _so_ sorry, Winston.” Angela said to the gorilla as they walked into her lab together. They had confined him to his room for the past four days while she was gone; she knew it wasn’t _that_ long - he’d been confined far longer at the beginning of his stay with them - but she still felt guilty. 

“It’s alright, doctor. You can’t be everywhere.” He glanced down at her. “They needed you more.” That was certainly true, and she didn’t regret going - even if she _would_ be haunted by what had happened there - but she regretted the hurt her absence had caused. 

Angela had collected Winston later than she normally would. She had walked into her office and discovered all the tasks she had left undone. 

There were the three researchers whom she had promised a reassignment; fortunately they were understanding, and since Winston hadn’t been in the labs they had been willing to work during her absence. One was being sent to Ecopoint: Congo at one researchers’ specific request; the other two were being reassigned to different labs here in Zürich. 

Then she had remembered the three men she had to report to her superiors. That had required a trip back to her rooms, as she had left the napkin with her names in one pocket of her pack for safekeeping. Names in hand, she had written a quick email with her three friends - superiors - as the recipients.

In that email, she also requested a meeting at their convenience to discuss the humanitarian relief in Italy. Angela had left it purposefully vague. She wanted to discuss her authority; Jack’s order that first night in Potenza needed to be addressed, and she doubted they would be too pleased to host a meeting for _that_. 

Gloria had sent her a list of the actions she had taken during Angela’s absence. There was a list of medical supplies and personnel that had been sent in the past few days - most she already knew about, having either seen or heard from them while out in the field. There was a strike mission whose agent list she had approved and a report of the comings and goings of the infirmary. 

Angela was so grateful to have Gloria.

The last task left was the KIA reports. She knew that she didn’t _have_ to read them, but she did anyway. Fortunately, there were only two - but that was two too many, in her opinion. They would weigh upon her, as all agent deaths did, and strengthen her.

That was when she had left to break Winston out for the day. There were plenty of hours left in the day - even if they were _less_ than she liked - for them to work. She set Winston back to the research on biotic transplanting while she turned to her Valkyrie suit - or, more specifically, the propulsion systems of the suit.

Flight would have made her task in Potenza easier. Angela wanted her wings to be useable even in the absence of an agent - because, in the field, she may not always have that option. 

She knew that flight was possible - there were several armed forces who equipped their troops with jetpacks. But all the current tools did not allow for _true_ flight. These jetpacks could fly as long as there was fuel, but maneuvering was clunky at best. She had _wings_ , and she wanted to use them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay! 
> 
> I have some good-ish news, and some bad news.
> 
> The bad news is that, starting next month, I will be _super_ busy with real life crap. My real job is a US tax preparer, and our busy season is January - April / May. Hopefully. Unless Covid does us dirty again this year, anyway. 
> 
> The good-ish news is that I have chapters already written - but not for this story. I competed in NaNoWriMo this year, writing a separate Angela / Gabriel story - that is what took up so much of my time and made this posting late. While I have every intention to continue working on Forging, it will be very difficult in the coming months. As I have chapters, I will update this story. I will begin posting this new story in January, following my once-a-month update schedule. 
> 
> I do appreciate you guys for reading and leaving me kudos / reviews, so I _will_ give you closure - it's just slow going unfortunately.


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